Ingenio ab Artifex (Formerly: Flowers for Your Grave)
by JaimeJabs
Summary: There have been many rumours surrounding me and my life—especially my love life. So, after due consideration—and a few well-aimed words from our resident bookworm—I have decided to publish my autobiography. For any questions and questionable charms placed on your copy of my self-updating autobiography, feel free to owl my publisher, Jaime.
1. Pilot

**Chapter 1: Intro**

It is wonderful to be James Black. Believe me. How many fourteen years old boys can say they spent their birthday in one of Marseilles' best nightclubs with their friends? Or spent the same night in the arms of a naked goddess? Anyway, we'll get to that later.

Now, you may wonder, what kind of parent would let their underage child spend a night in a nightclub drinking? The answer is simple: Sirius Black. Though, to be honest, Sirius isn't my real father. My name isn't even James Black. My real name is one big secret.

I was born Harry James Potter. I was to grow up as a Potter. But life rarely goes according to the plan. 'Man makes plans, and God laughs,' and all that nonsense.

According to my father/godfather/creepy uncle/dog, when I was a little over one-year-old, an insane murderer named Voldemort - I know, what a funny name! - hunted me down, killed my parents, tried to kill me and blew himself up.

For the record; yes, I'm that awesome.

Sirius became my guardian. But that wasn't the end of the story. No, of course not. This is my life. It's inconceivable to imagine anything in my life could be that simple. This Voldemort bad dude had a bunch of followers who were also bad dudes. Aurors caught over sixty of those bad dudes of secondary importance. The thing is, Voldemort had two hundred followers at the height of his power and that is without counting werewolves, dementors and many other creatures. Over seventy of those followers had reportedly died before his fall. That means at least sixty of them are still walking around.

Thus, it was deemed too dangerous to be me by the higher beings called adults. Albus and the rest came up with a plan. Harry Potter didn't go to his godfather like he should have. No, he went to the other side of the pond, to the U.S of A with his muggle relatives.

To be honest, I don't know if my aunt's family actually left Britain and I find myself disinclined to care.

It was only a coincidence when Sirius confessed to fathering a bastard boy with a muggle girl he picked up at a bar. Thus was born my new identity, James William Black, only known by four people; Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

It wasn't a hard convince people of my new identity, mainly because Sirius was, and still is, a serious womaniser. I mean, the guy cannot keep it in his pants. Though I am told he has matured. Believe what you will.

Now, it's at this point I must make things clear. Sirius is the head of House Black. House Black is rich. Not wealthy by any means but when combined with the nothing-to-scoff at Potter vault, Sirius and I make a family with no financial worries.

To keep away from the Death Eaters -seriously, who the fuck named these people? Is having a bad, made-up name is a necessity when joining the dark side? - Sirius, Remus, and I moved to France; into a lovely, small villa just outside of Marseille. The last surviving sons of the Black and Lupin families opened a small shop, analysing and de-cursing objects, in Colline de Mélodies Douces- a magical town in Marseille- and life went on.

I was five when I first started showing an inkling of my potential. I could levitate and move light objects. Being the son of a Marauder, I acted like the mature kid I am. Like stealing ice-cream from the fridge, dropping a bucket of water on a sleeping godfather, lifting up women's skirts so Sirius would buy me ice cream.

Okay, I wasn't a do-gooder, but I was awesome, dammit!

I was six when I found a baby fox, or he found me. He was six inches long without his tail and twelve inches with his tail. I, in my infinite wisdom, adopted this stray. It took some effort to convince Sirius, Mr responsible adult. It was all blood and tears.

Okay, there was no blood, but it involved a lot of puppy eyes and waterworks. I named him Puck from a character in a play, called 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. I know, not exactly suitable for a child my age but Sirius had to take me when uncle Moony couldn't babysit me for one of Sirius' dates. I'm sure I earned him points with the lady he was with, whatever her name was.

It was grandpa Albus who first realised Puck wasn't your regular fox. He's a rare magical creature: a raiju. Raijus are known to be playful little creatures associated with thunder and mischief. He's usually a genial little fellow but can get a little restless during stormy weather or when I am upset.

When I was seven, Sirius began to teach me magic; wand magic. Though, for obvious reasons, I didn't have a wand yet so Sirius would lend me his only during our lessons.

It wasn't until I was nine that Albus agreed I was responsible enough to get a personal wand. It must have taken a lot of effort and money on Sirius' part to get me a permit but it was the best birthday gift a boy could ask for. What type of wand did you get, you may ask. Thirteen inches of beech wood with a whisker from a raiju named Puck. The wandmaker confessed to his lack of knowledge on what properties a wand core made of Raiju whiskers may have. He wasn't keen on the idea but, as always, my stubbornness prevailed. He said beech wood wands excel in artistry and prefer a match with the wise.

I told you I was awesome.

Okay, I know the wand does not make the wizard but I was a child with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a cool familiar. There was no way they were going to convince me to accept any core but of my familiar's whiskers. And frankly, I don't think it was a mistake.

With my new wand at hand, my magical education started in earnest. It wasn't long before we realised, while I was good at charms, I was a prodigy in transfiguration. Even grandpa Albus said I was much better than he was at my age. In hindsight, he may have been messing with me, seeing as he got his first wand at the old age of eleven.

One can never be sure with him. He's a crafty… fella.

By the time I was eleven and ready to go to Hogwarts, I was already capable in second-year charms and third-year transfiguration. Believe me, aunt Minerva and Professor Flitwick were ecstatic about my performance. I was a prodigy, they said. I should skip the first two years on their subject, they said.

I was happy to refuse. Who in their right mind would refuse the chance to spend more time in Hogwarts just to face the real world earlier? Besides, I could very well learn ahead with individual study without having to take classes with students two years my senior.

My first year was action-packed. Like my second year. And my third. In all honesty, my life since starting Hogwarts has been action-packed, period.

During my first year, I killed a mountain troll and a professor. Let's not forget my little jaunt to the Forbidden Forest where a centaur named Firenze saved me from certain death; or the time my three friends and I smuggled a baby dragon out of the castle.

Man, are we cool, or what?

My second year started out great. I was getting better and better at magic under the tutelage of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the vanquisher of Grindelwald, master of transfiguration and alchemy, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, discoverer of the thirteen uses of dragon blood, the shape of Voldemort's boggart, pet of Fawkes the Phoenix and lover of candies.

Okay, 'lover' of candies sounded dirtier than it did in my head but, well, Albus has a serious case of sweet-tooth.

Funny anecdote; when I asked grandpa Albus which of his titles he liked the best, he answered by popping a candy into his mouth. Make of that what you will.

Anyway, I was under the mentorship of one of the greatest wizards of the modern times; and it was paying off. Unfortunately, my life is never that simple or easy. Turns out, there are house-sized magical spiders in the forbidden forest. It's a good thing that damn forest is forbidden. God forbid, a gentle half-giant may send children there for detention, or a gentle half-giant may send children there for a fact-finding mission.

There is a pattern there somewhere.

That's not even the end of the crazy. I found a secret chamber under the school, and in that chamber was a basilisk the size of the fucking Hogwarts Express.

No, I'm not exaggerating. I never, ever exaggerate. Whatever.

I, being your friendly neighbourhood wizard-hero, went into the chamber with my dear friends Ron, who is afraid of spiders, and Neville, who is afraid of his own shadow, to save my dear friend Ron's little sister. Long story short, I slew the basilisk, killed a half-man-half-ghost thingy with a serious case of Slytherin-Dramatics and saved the girl.

Did you know Basilisk venom is one of the most potent killing agents in the world? Trust me, I know firsthand. Merlin bless you, Fawkes!

My third year was subdued compared to my first two years. I almost died once, chasing a rat through the forbidden forest with Sirius, dodging a werewolf and half a dozen trolls. Still, compared to the years before, it was an uncomplicated year.

My year of Quiet Revision, if you will.

My life after starting Hogwarts wasn't all that bad though. I made good friends. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Katie. Not only humans either. I made friends with two centaurs and a goblin chief.

I learned that I, truly, am the next Dumbledore in transfiguration- or as like to call it; the first Harry Potter- and talented in charms and defence against the dark arts. Unfortunately, I suck at potions and herbology and am barely adequate in other wandless subjects.

Meh. Did you know green is an awful colour on greasy-haired potions professors? Or that, using the professor as target practice for your paper aeroplanes during the history of magic classes can prevent unwanted sleeping? Thank you, Myrtle, for the idea.

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Part 2: Five Funny Little Stories From James Black**

 **Story I: A Nightmare and a Conversation**

 **July 15, 1987**

'It's him... Harry... go..."

'James... Please... No...'

'Silly... Move...'

'Take me... No... Please...'

'Avada...'

A scream and a green light.

I wake up from the nightmare with a start. It's the same one again. I can't help it, I cry. I'm scared every time I have this nightmare. There is a feeling of terror to the whole thing I cannot hope to comprehend.

I see little except red hair and a green light. I hear words but not whole sentences and, because of that, there is no way for me to understand. I'm sure Sirius knows more than he's telling me, but whenever I ask he acts all shifty and distracts me with ice cream.

Sirius. I should go to him. I never have nightmares when I go to him. He's always safe.

I hope he's home. He had a date tonight, so he left me with Uncle Remus. I'm not sure what 'a date' is other than today's date is July fifteenth, nineteen eighty-seven. Somehow, I don't think Sirius was talking about that kind of date if the amount of cologne he put on is any sign. He always has a date after he meets women. Maybe they have something to do with it? Yuck!

I wait for my eyes to adjust to the light and get my glasses. I hate having to use glasses to see but Sirius tells me my father had the same problem. I get out of my bed and move to the corridor. Sirius' room is right next to mine, so it takes no time for me to get in there. It's empty.

He must be in the sitting room. I can hear muffled voices coming from the room as I walk down the stairs.

"She kissed me and..."

"Why ... early then?"

I walk near the open glass door to listen in better.

"It can't go anywhere, Remus. You know that. I have James to take care of."

"James won't mind if you date someone you like, Sirius. Hell, I think it'd be good for him to have a female influence in his life."

It's obvious they wouldn't want me to hear this conversation but I am curious so I sit down by the door and continue listening.

"What do I tell her then? Do I tell her who James really is or do I lie to her and tell her he's my son? This whole thing is confusing for the boy as it is. I don't want him to worry about lying about who he is to someone he would see often. Not yet, at least. The daycare is hard on him already."

"You are right. It's just... You deserve to be happy, brother."

"I am happy. That boy is my son. Sometimes, I think he's more like me then he is like James." During the short silence, I hear one of them pour something into a glass. "We went to his favourite playground by sea the other day. After he got tired, we sat on a bench and discussed his wandless abilities. He wanted to show off, I suspect; he wandlessly created a soft wind to lift this gorgeous blonde's skirt." Sirius tells with a chortle.

I smile at that. That was a fun day. I ate a ton of ice cream. Sirius buys me ice cream whenever I do that.

I can hear Remus laughing softly. "It's a good thing you weren't that talented when we were children. You would've gotten expelled from Hogwarts within our first year."

Sirius chuckles. "I laughed so hard; he continued to do that until we got home. He was so proud of himself that it was difficult to make him promise not to do it again."

"You aren't growing mature on me, are you, Sirius?" The mocking tone of Remus' voice is all too obvious.

"I am mature."

Remus mirrors my snort at that.

"Am too."

 **-JB-**

 **Story II: A Gift, Worthy of a Saviour**

 **May 30, 1992**

"Who goes there?" rings a loud, warning voice in the quiet of the forbidden forest, causing my heart to miss a beat. I manage not to piss in my pants though. That has to count for something, right?

I take a second to calm my breathing before answering. "I am looking for Firenze," I say as an answer. If my voice is too high, no one would know. Well, other than the owner of the other voice. "He saved my life. I would like to thank him."

"This is the second time you wandered to where you should not, young Potter." I turn to see Firenze calmly walking towards me, ignoring my little freak out about how easy it was for him to know who I am from the moment we met. "You know these woods are not safe for one as young as yourself."

I give him a small bow. "Hello, Firenze. It's good to see you again," I greeted him.

"Why are you here, youngling?"

"I made a gift as a thank you." I take out the wooden bow and a quiver filled with arrows from my bag. "I would be dead if you hadn't intervened."

I hold out the bow horizontally in my hands for him to take it. I vaguely notice over a dozen other centaurs surround and if I am a little scared, I am too determined not to show it. They wouldn't harm me. I am no threat to them and they have an honour code not to harm children; at least that's what Hagrid tells me.

Firenze takes the bow from me, inspecting the delicate carvings on it with fascination and tests the string. "This is an intricate work."

"I made it myself. It's sturdy, made of yew. I'm told yew wood is one of the best for archery." I give him the quiver. "The quiver and arrows are enchanted. It holds twenty-five arrows with silver arrowheads. When you use an arrow, it will return to the quiver in a minute, give or take."

He takes the quiver and inspects the arrows with an expert eye. He notches an arrow, turns in one swift move and fires. A bat falls out of the sky and my eyes widen in surprise and fear. The whole thing takes less than three seconds. Is it normal I get the urge to introduce Snape to Firenze? Hah! That would be funny.

Oh, and a word of advice: never mess with centaurs.

He turns back and looks at me appraisingly. "An excellent work, young Potter."

"Well, you did a good job of saving me." I give a nervous laugh. "Professor Dumbledore helped me with the charm work. The arrows are also charmed to prevent pain so you can hunt an animal without causing unnecessary pain."

The moment I finish, the arrow which killed the bat a minute ago returns to the quiver, causing the centaurs that surround me to murmur their approval, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you for a wonderful gift."

"It was the least I could do."

"Jupiter shines brightly on you, Harry Potter," he says, cryptic as hell.

A fun fact: centaurs always say things in the most confusing way possible. They probably take pleasure in watching humans walk away confused and freaked out.

"Farewell."

I nod and turn back to walk to the castle. Firenze's voice keeps ringing in my ears. Why would Jupiter shine brightly on me? What have I ever done to it?

I sometimes hate that I don't listen in most of my wandless classes.

 **-JB-**

 **Story III: A Deal with the Wicked**

 **June 21, 1993**

"Mr Black, I see you talked your way into my office. What do you want?" asks Terrak, the highest ranking goblin in Britain and their current war chief. Displeasure is ringing in his voice though it is difficult to tell with goblins. They are not what you would call 'friendly creatures'.

"Chief Terrak, I have an offer for you I am sure you will be very interested," I answer, not letting my nervousness show. I have defeated a basilisk. I can do this. "I want to return the sword of Gryffindor to you." I stop talking at his predatory look.

"Sword of Gryffindor, you said?" He eyes me like I'm a piece of meat. I empathise with all the women who complain about unwanted male attention. I know there is nothing sexual about the way the goblin eyes me but still... "The one we have been searching for centuries? How did you come by it if I may ask?"

I grin. I have to say it. It can't be helped. "I pulled it out of a hat." At his unbelieving look, I continue, "Really. Here I was, in front of a huge ass basilisk and there it was, the Sword of Gryffindor, inside a hat."

I can see the gears turning, processing the information and trying to decide whether to believe me. He believes me, seeing as no one would dare to waste his time with a story like this.

"I'm guessing you want something in return?" he accuses me.

"Damn right, I do," I answer, now feeling more confident. "I may be young but I'm not stupid. I know how valuable the sword truly is. Priceless one might even say. I cannot just hand it over without getting something in return. I wouldn't even if I could." My tone is bolder than I am feeling right about now.

"And what is it you want in return?"

"To use all banking services you offer for free, and other services you offer at a discount," I tell him with squared shoulders. It is hard to ignore the greedy glint in his eyes but I manage. "And I want a claim to a future commission of a goblin-made weapon of the highest quality."

"And, pray tell me, why would we give you anything for an item that rightfully belongs to goblin nation?" He - or she, I'm not sure - demands, trying his luck at intimidating the sword out of me.

Fucking goblins, man. They are greedy little fuckers that would rob you blind if they think they can get away with it. Oh, no. Not me. "It doesn't belong to you. It belonged to Godric Gryffindor. He left it under powerful enchantments to ensure it went to someone who would use it to defend Hogwarts. That person turned out to be me."

"And you would sell an item such as this?" Terrak asks in an offended tone.

"The sword is exquisite. It's not a display item but an instrument of war. It begs to be used. I don't want the school to keep it where it will be put on display as if it's just an artwork and where it could be stolen." I cock my head to the side and lean back. "Besides, it was coated with Basilisk venom. Even a small cut with it would kill someone and a school full of children is no place for such a dangerous artefact."

"You sound like you want to get rid of it awfully." He is confused, and why shouldn't he? That sword is worth more than the entire Malfoy fortune, and here I am, a child, trying to barter with it.

"It's not about wanting to keep it or not. I have no use for a sword. I don't think I ever will. I am trading an instrument of war for an item I will actually need and the goodwill of the goblin nation."

We sit in silence for at least twenty minutes, bartering silently with our unmoving eyes. I am near losing my patience when Terrak finally grins, though it is softer than it is hungry, and speaks. "You have yourself a deal, Mr Black."

"I shall contact you when I have a contract ready then."

As soon as I leave the oppressive office, I lean on a wall and exhale. Fucking goblins, man.

 **-JB-**

 **Story IV: A Lesson from a Mentor**

 **November 13, 1993**

"Come in, Harry, sit," grandpa Albus calls out just before I knock on the door to his office. "Would you like an acid pop?"

"Must we play this little game every time, professor?" I take the sugary delight to his surprise.

"Would you believe if I said you are one of the rare people to accept one of my treats?" It puzzles him as if it was one of life's greatest mysteries. Knowing the man, to him, it probably is.

"Well, it's an unsaid rule not to accept candy from creepy old men, Albus," I smile cheekily. "No offence intended, of course."

"Of course," he agrees as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Now, to an average school kid, sitting in this office would be a nightmare, but I grew up around 'grandpa Albus'. For me, this is just another Saturday. "To the lesson, then. We have reached a stage where you could take your OWLs and pass them with flying colours in most subjects. I think we should focus on expanding your magical knowledge either in areas you still lack, like Potions, or we should find ourselves a new subject to learn. Do you have a preference? Alchemy perhaps?"

The hope in his voice is a god damn blow to my conscience. Still, I give no quarter. "Professor, can you teach me how to invent my own spells?" I ask as a way of answering.

His shoulders drop just a little but he doesn't lose his enthusiasm. He knows I loath potions and anything remotely related with a passion, and while alchemy is closely related to transfiguration, it has its roots in potions. Still, he can't help hope to pass on his extensive knowledge in the rare area of magic. Maybe I should suggest he take on Hermione as a student. She'd love to learn alchemy. Hm. A thought for another time.

"As you wish, Harry."

With that, we start an intense three hours of discussion that involves a hell of a lot of note-taking. He gives me two books on the subject and suggests more from the school library.

For the next five months, I study every book I can get my hands on the subject. When I am not reading about it, I am working on arithmetic calculations and Latin phrasing. My animagus training is the only exception to this. I even neglect and turn in some assignments late. I get an earful from Junior Professor Granger and professional slacker Weasley while Neville snickers at me. Oh, how I love those three. One is upset that I am neglecting my classes. The other is upset because I am too occupied with my studies. Neville doesn't care at all. What a quartet we make.

 **-JB-**

 **April 16, 1994**

In the end, it is worth it. Because when I go to the headmaster's office for our weekly meeting in the middle of April, I am not there for another lesson. I am there to show him four new spells I created. My own spells!

I hear voices inside but I am too excited to even stop to think he may be busy. "...zard tournament-"

I enter his office without knocking. It is rude of me, I know, but I am so damn happy that decorum is the last thing on my mind. "I did it, professor!" I yell before I can take in the occupants of the room

The Minister of Magic is there. So is his undersecretary. And the head of DMLE. And Lucius Malfoy. And a man and a girl in Auror robes. And professors McGonagall and Snape. "I… I'm sorry, professor. I should have knocked," I apologise, now feeling a little nervous, but still vibrating with excitement.

Chief Warlock smiles at me kindly while the two professors, Malfoy, and the lady in pink all glare at me and the rest don't even attempt to hide their amusement. "It's okay, James. We were wrapping up here, anyway. Why don't you show us what you managed?" he half orders, half suggests, his eyes twinkling away madly. It is clear he wants me to show off.

I oblige and pull my wand out. "Avismyiop Dictonis," I whisper, lifting my wand in a straight line and adding a small triangle, and a blue quaker parrot flies out of my wand, flies to the headmaster, and lands on his shoulder. "There is a greasy bat standing behind your back," the parrot speaks in my voice before dissolving into the air. The said bat glares at me something fierce while Albus smiles. Minerva tries to hide her amusement, 'tries' being the operative word. The Auror girl, who has pink hair - seriously? Pink? - snickers, ignoring the amused jab by the black Auror.

"You know, Firenze is great at killing bats," I stage-whisper in a conspiratorial tone.

"Magnificent!" the minister comments. "What spell is that?"

"I've been teaching young James how to craft his own spells. It's his first, a communication spell, I believe." His smile turns smug.

"No, professor, I managed three others earlier. This one was the hardest to create because it's not just a temporary conjuration, I also had to get the rudy bird to talk," I correct.

"Three others?" It surprises even the great Albus Dumbledore if his wide eyes are any sign.

"Well, yes. But the other spells are messy. One conjures a bird, or two depending on how much power you put in, that disappears with a disorienting bright flash. The other conjures these three fat, angry birds that explode upon contact, leaving behind a messy goo that traps whoever is in the contact range. That one was a mistake. The last one conjures a ton of small birds that explode and leave behind a paint." I tilt my head and consider that wording for a moment. "For artistic purposes, of course. I'm not a sociopath."

"And how old are you, Mr…" Amelia Bones asks.

"Black. James Black. I'm fourteen, ma'am. Well, thirteen but whatever." I shrug.

"And you created four spells already?" blurts out the girl Auror.

"Young James is one of my lions and something of a prodigy," aunt Minerva comments proudly. "I'd bet my wand he could pass his transfiguration NEWT easily if he were to take them tomorrow."

"And he still blows up simplest of potions." The bat is not happy with me. I wonder why.

I ignore the jab, choosing instead to humbly accept the praise of Professor McGonagall with a bow. "That's because I'm awesome, Professor."

There is an awkward silence after that where no one knows what to say or do. "Anyway, I wanted you to bask in my glory. Good night," I say and leave behind smiling adults and two bitter men and one glaring woman.

 **-JB-**

 **Story V: A Blessing for the Unfortunate**

 **June 8, 1994**

Knock! Knock!

"Come in," comes the gruff voice of caretaker Filch from inside his office. Well, when I say office, I mean in a most figurative sense. The room the poor man is using as an office is basically a slightly large broom closet.

I have always felt sorry for the man. There are over six hundred students in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Twenty professors. Over fifty house-elves. A talking hat and a burning bird. A horde of centaurs that live on the grounds. A small herd of thestrals, hippogriffs, and many more magical creatures. Hell, the castle itself is semi-sentient.

Yet, in the middle of all this magic and wonder, there is a man with no talent in magic. At first, I thought it was nice of uncle Albus to accept Filch's employment. It seemed like Filch was lucky to be here. Nowadays, I'm not so sure. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I enter caretaker's office tentatively. I am not afraid of the man, but he is known for his bitterness and ridiculous comments about how he should be allowed to torment us wicked folk. It's a little unnerving to listen to him complain about not being able to whip us into respectful individuals.

I carefully make my way to his table and sit on one of the rusty chairs, saying nothing.

"What do you want?"

"I want to give you a gift I think you will like very much," I answer, taking out a modified copy of the Marauders' map. I held it out for him to take.

He does, albeit reluctantly, like he expects the parchment to blow up in his face. He opens the parchment and his eyes widen comically when comprehension hits him. "This… this…"

"It shows where everyone in the castle is," I explain. "It also shows which places need cleaning and such. I thought you could make good use of it."

He grudgingly takes his eyes off the map to look at me, like he is afraid if he takes his eyes off it, it would disappear. "Why? Why give me this?"

I think about it for a second. "Your work is under-appreciated. I felt it would be nice for someone to help you."

He physically gulps his emotions down with great difficulty. I guess not feeling anything but bitterness for decades makes it hard for him to feel anything else. "Thank you."

I smile at him. "All I ask in return is that you turn the other way if you bump into me after curfew."

"Will do, boss," he says enthusiastically.

I get up and move to the door. "Gotta go. I wouldn't want to get caught by Professor Snape."


	2. Episode I

**Chapter 1: Mr Tweety**

 **July 15, 1994  
** "Come on, Harry, focus. You are almost there," Sirius' says excitedly. I can see him wag his non-existent tail. I want to punch him in the face but I don't have hands and am much smaller than my normal size at the moment, what with being in the middle of animagus transformation. This is a crucial point where my body doesn't really function because my internal organs are in a flux state and are not working properly. If I stay in this form much longer, I won't be able to live to tell the tale. That's why training to be an animagus is so dangerous. If done without a partner who can reverse your transformation, it would most definitely end in death.

While Sirius is wagging his tail, or at least trying, I am trying to focus past the agony rocking through every cell of my body. Who knew turning into a bird could be so damn painful. According to aunt Minerva, the bigger the difference between body masses of one's human form and animagus form, more difficult and painful the transformation is, at least until I become adept enough to bypass the mid-transformation stage.

And they say Pettigrew was talentless. The man could turn into a fucking rat.

From what the books on the subjects say, one's animal form has a deep connection with their physical and personality traits, and habits. Sirius is an excitable, friendly person who is a fierce protector of who he considers family; thus dog. Tabby cats are aloof and intelligent, kinda like aunt Minerva. You know what they say about rats.

I love flying and have an aptitude for the seeker position. Rough-legged hawks are predators that can detect the smallest movements from a mile away and they are one of the fastest birds. You get the point.

The world gets bigger and Sirius' voice becomes more and more irritating. Oh, how I want to be back in my human form so I can punch him in the nose. Okay, I know he's done nothing to deserve a punch but, dammit, I'm in pain and his voice just keeps getting worse. Slowly, the pain subsides and I find myself a fifth of my normal height. Sirius is grinning like a loon and clapping. I try to insult his mother in the most fascinating way I can think of but the voice I make sounds like a cat going through a cruel puberty. It doesn't matter anyway: knowing how much Sirius likes his late mother, he'd just laugh and congratulate me.

In the meantime, Sirius is talking in rapid-fire but, for the life of me, I can't understand a word he says. We are in the small forest behind our villa.

My wings spread out of their own accord, flapping. I can feel the mid-afternoon sun on my skin - sorry, feathers - as I fly with jerky flaps of my wings. Ten feet. Twenty feet. I circle around the clearing, feeling the euphoria of freedom in my bones as I fly. This is much, much better than flying on a broom. At least, the guys downstairs won't suffer the after affects of flying on a broom.

Is it any wonder most Quidditch players don't have no more than two children? Blue balls, man.

I see a small brown squirrel playing with a nut in the shade of a tree out of the corner of my eye and it's writhing in pain three seconds later. I wonder just why the raw and bleeding animal seems so delicious and why I attacked it.

A moment later, I am back to my usual height and breathing like I ran a marathon and dropped one of my lungs a few miles in to the run in a most painful manner. My phantom wings hurt like hell. "I killed that squirrel," I say in-between breaths.

Sirius shrugs, unconcerned. "Yeah, that happens during the first couple of times you transform until you get the hang of your instincts." He smiles in remembrance. "I chased my tail for ten whole minutes the first time I transformed. James and Peter were laughing so hard, they neglected to untransfigure me."

He shakes out of memories and gives me a hand to help me up. "This is enough for today. Tomorrow, we'll work on keeping your wits in your new form and reverse transformation. I would have guessed it would take time for you to figure out how to fly but you managed just fine."

I smile as we amble to the house. "That's splendid, Sirius, but you're forgetting one crucial thing," I wait for drama reasons. "What will my marauder name be?"

I watch him from the corner of my eye; he looks thoughtful. "Sharpclaw? No, that makes you sound like a goblin. Silverbeak?"

"Nope." I glare at him. "I'm not a hippogriff."

"Hey! You don't get a say. It's a nickname. How about… What was the name of that bird in that cartoon you used to like so much? The yellow one. 'I tawt I taw a puddy tat,'" he mimics in a childish, girlish voice.

My only response is a growling "no."

"Yes!" He jumps up in victory as soon as he finds the answer to his own question. "Tweety. Yes, from now on you shall be forever known as Mr Tweety." He gives me an oddly respectful bow. "Welcome to the Marauders: a group of misfit troublemakers."

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"

 **-JB-  
**  
 **July 20, 1994  
** "How goes your animagus training, Harry?" grandpa Albus asks as he puts down his cup of tea on the coffee table next to his chair.

I sit across from him, my back ramrod straight with confidence and pride. Once again, I proved myself a prodigy as I am one of the youngest animagi. Well, outside of a few communities that excel in the art and refuse to share their methods with outsiders.

We are in my 'temple', a large room in the basement where I spend most of my waking time. The room is anything but simple with thirty feet walls at four sides. One of those thirty feet walls is converted into a single bookcase, filled to brim with books on every magical subject and books on history, art and many other subjects that wizards would consider 'Muggle' subjects. For all their immaturity, Sirius and Remus value education a great deal. In the corner, right next to one end of the book-wall is a large work table, cluttered with knick-knacks I'm working on. Several canvases stand on easels spread half a dozen feet away from the table, most of them half finished.

A piano occupies a one corner of the room; next to it several other instruments I can play or tried to play at one time but never got the hang of.

Sirius still grumbles about the harp, maybe rightfully so.

A loveseat sits near in front of a fireplace, with a coffee table next to it that holds two books I am reading interchangeably at the moment. The rest of the room is in a state that could only be described as organised chaos, filled with everything and anything.

I grin at my mentor and puff my chest before answering, "I finally completed the transformation. I have a good grasp of and control over my instincts," I begin and grimace before finishing, "but I am having a little trouble with reversing the transfiguration."

One thing you should know about Albus Dumbledore. He loves to talk like a centaur. He never gives you the information you ask for. He gives you a roadmap to that information for you to figure it out. For him, knowledge is a great asset you need to work for.

That's why I am not really surprised when he says, "from time to time, Harry, I wonder to myself if I am ever the same person I was when I was but a year ago." After a small pause, he adds, "Muggles have a great saying. 'You can't bathe in the same river twice.'" He gave a small smile and nodded to himself, pleased. "A little food for a thought."

Great. Now I have to spend my evening doing Albus to English translation. "I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually," I comment with a sigh and a small smile, ignoring the satisfied twitch of his beard.

After a short, contemplative silence, Dumbledore speaks up again. "As you know, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard tournament this year. What are your thoughts on that?" This one is easier to translate: he's asking me if I plan on competing.

"I looked into the history of the tournament. It's one giant bloodbath and a rip off from Roman Empire's famous trials of the damned." I shake my head. "It sounds time-consuming and frankly, I'd rather spend my time studying enchanting or something else useful. I still haven't figured out why my enchantments last so little. Besides, I had enough dangerous adventures as it is. I don't need a tournament to spice things up."

Albus smiles and I can see his pride at my, what I'm guessing is, mature answer; yet that same smile does not hide the flash of sadness that passes his eyes. "Yes, you've had quite a few adventures in your time at Hogwarts. I fear, lately, I am not doing a good job as the headmaster." He is a little too self-accusatory for my taste.

"All's well that ends well," I offer. "Besides, you are not omniscient no matter how much you portray yourself to be."

"I know, my boy. I know." He seems to forget I'm in the room with him and loses himself in his thoughts of what I am assuming past failures and regrets. Many consider Albus as either infallible or an old fool, depending on which shade they wear to the political arena. I see a great man with a tragic past.

Past filled with a broken family, a lover turned enemy and a mistake that killed a thousand people before a baby put a stop to it; not that many knew much of his tragedy. It wasn't a secret, but a shame hidden by his hard-earned pacifistic outlook in life.

The silence stretches for a minute, and I can't find it in me to disrupt the old man. He has a lot on his plate even for a young man, which he is most definitely not.

He realises where he is and returns to the present. "Now, Harry, I agree with your desire to not compete. Because of the past death toll, it's decided that only those of age should be allowed to compete," he informs me. "That doesn't mean I don't want my colleagues at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to enjoy the talents of Hogwarts' finest." He smiles at me mischievously, his eyes bright with an energy that is almost childish.

"So, you want me to show off?" I ask for a clarification, my eyebrows raised in surprise. Albus is generally not a showoff.

"We may have a side bet on which school has the finest student," he confesses with a nod. "Both Headmistress Madame Maxime and Highmaster Karkaroff's star pupils are of age and will put their name forward for the tournament."

"And because I can't compete, you want me to do... what exactly?"

"It is imperative we welcome our guests with the dignity and flourish they deserve." His answer is enigmatic per usual with the man's linguistic torture scheme. "For international cooperation, of course."

There is an awkward silence where I expect him to clarify further as he throws a candy on his mouth and sucks on it loudly, ignoring my silent plea through narrowed eyes. Albus Dumbledore can be an arsehole sometimes.

"I will leave the details up to you." Great. That means I am on my own in this little project.

 **-JB-**

 **July 26, 1994  
** "Sigh."

"Did you say 'sigh'?" Remus asks me incredulously, a small grin playing at his lips.

"I have never been this bored in my life. Ever," I grumble and curse myself for deciding to spend my day with Remus in the store. It is far too boring for my taste and I forgot to bring books to keep myself occupied.

"If memory serves me right, I warned you. We rarely get any business during the summer, unlike most other shops."

"Can you blame me? I thought curse breaking would involve a sense of danger and adventure and I would get to watch you as you go against the most dangerous curses in existence," I complain. "Instead, I can hear my brain cells contemplating suicide."

The werewolf snickers as he puts down the newspaper he has been reading for the last few hours on the counter. "Oh, no. We must prevent that." His tone is mocking, his face showing faux-horror. "The world would never survive."

I blindly grab the first my hand reaches on the shelf behind me and throw it at his head. His eyes widen and he jumps to his feet, falling down face first instead.

The turtle-shaped paperweight hits the wall behind Remus with a loud thud and breaks in two, emitting strange, brown smoke as it falls, clattering on the ground.

The smoke stays shapeless for a long moment as I watched, breathless and worried, before it amassed to create two spheres that rotate around a central point, getting smaller and smaller at each turn, emitting sparks from surfaces.

Remus raises himself to his feet and jumps over the counter, crosses the store in two long steps and grabs my shirt, pushing me behind him. "What is that?"

"I- I don't know," I croak, leaning over Remus' left side to watch the spheres. "It was on the shelf… A turtle paperweight, I think."

Remus tilts his head, his arm still out to hold me behind him. "I… think remember that. A blonde woman, Madame Laframboise brought it," he pauses, his face scrunched up as he tries to remember the details. "My memory… There is something wrong. It's hazy. I remember Laframboise bringing it but I can't remember what I did with it. She… She said there was… something inside it - she didn't know what."

"Suffice it to say, those are it." The spheres are now no larger than a quaffle each, emitting bigger sparks at every turn. "The question now is, what the hell are those?"

Remus scratches his head as if the answer may come to him through the action and half-turns his head, keeping the spheres and me in his sight. "I'll run diagnostics. You need to leave," he orders me, pushing me out. "Now!"

I push back, shaking my head. I can't leave him with my mess. Whatever those things are, I have a gut feeling they would harm him more than they would harm me. Besides, the day is finally getting interesting and there is no way I will miss the excitement. "No, I'm staying." A flick of a wrist and my wand is out, the incantation for the shield charm on my lips as my wand's tip lights up a soft blue. "You go ahead with casting; I'll cover you in case those things - whatever they are - attack."

Remus looks torn but nods. Taking a step forward, he chants a long series of Latin incantations, forgoing the simplest identification charms. The first set returns with no results and Remus doubles his efforts, casting a vast variety of detection, intent, identification and diagnostic charms; while the two balls continued to shrink, now both the size of a small fist.

None of his magic answers Remus' questions as a steely edge sets on the man's jaw. He grits his teeth in frustration.

"Nothing?" I ask as Remus takes a step back in my direction.

Remus only grunts in response as the orbs become even smaller than a snitch each but now elliptical, oddly reminiscent of two, monochromatic eyes. The smoke slows and slows, stopping before folding back, revealing two small, pink stones that shines bright lights at our direction.

They are eyes; I have no doubt now, and the most magnificent things I've ever seen; and keep in mind I have seen my share of epic in my young age; from a secret chamber filled with grand statues, to a thousand old Basilisk; from an immortal bird of fire, to an intricate sword worth a few fortunes.

Yet, as these eyes, to whoever they belong, gaze at me, judging me, I step forward, wanting to bask in their presence and prostate myself so I may share at their wisdom. They are eternal.

Before I can take two steps, Remus' hand clamp down on my wrist, pulling me back. I turn to him, reluctant and exasperated, and open my mouth to reprimand him for acting so silly but an errant thought stops me. Why does Remus look so miserable?

I tilt my head and examine his scarred face, a thousand and one questions shooting around in my head. My head, it feels heavier somehow, filled with unasked and unanswered questions, ideas and plans.

Somehow, my mind feels freer, like every limitations I had are no more and I can solve the world's greatest mysteries with nary a thought. Remus is talking but I am too busy pondering the single simple solution to his every problem to care about what he's saying.

Death, she is the answer to all questions. I can see it now. And I can see myself, sitting on a throne at the edge of the universe as every question in it becomes null and void.

Void, he is calling me, speaking through a mist and those unimaginable eyes, whispering sweet nothings to my ear; 'death is solution to all problems'.

I raise my wand to cure Remus of his troubles, of his curse, but it feels dead in my hands. No, not dead. It rejects me. My wand rejects me.

That realisation finally snaps me out of the haze I am in and with a single thought, two bright blue shields lock around those damnable eyes. I fall to my knees, breathing heavily, mental exhaustion of the pseudo-possession exacting a vengeance on me.

Remus is all over me in an instant, his eyes wide and fearful. "Are you okay, Harry?"

I don't have the energy to fight the chuckle that escapes me. "Just peachy," I answer, my voice hoarse and weak.

"Come on." He pulls me up and hugs me tightly. "Let's get you home."

I smile and hug him back, and if my arms hang around him more desperate than ever, neither of us mention it. "First, we should destroy those things."

Remus gives me a long look before nodding. "Yes, but we still don't know what they are."

"Something that affects a person's mind, changes the way the target thinks. I knew it was influencing me yet I welcomed it."

He lets out a deep breath. "That sounds like the Imperius Curse."

I consider what I've read about the unforgivable and shake my head. "Similar but no. There was no sense of euphoria. Enlightenment, that's more like what I felt. Like I finally knew the answer to every question there is and was blessed and commanded by a nihilist's anthropomorphic wet dream."

Remus raised an eyebrow, corners of his mouth twitching upward. "I sense Miss Granger's influence on you."

I grumble in response though not at all unpleased with the comment. "The question is, how do we get rid of it - or them?"

Remus raised his wand. "Finite Incantatem Praeterquam Protego."

I roll my eyes at the failed effort. "Seriously? This is what it takes to call yourself a curse breaker?"

The man shrugged unashamedly. "It's surprising how often a good general counter-spell works. Half our job, really."

I twirl my wand, a nervous habit I exhibit whenever I'm faced with an uncomfortable dilemma. "Any other bright ideas?"

Death is solution to all problems.

"Few," Remus says with an exited note to his voice. He is a Marauder at heart, no matter how responsible he may seem at surface. He grins and casts spell after spell at the orbs, bypassing my shields as he dislikes the risk of a repeat of the orbs' spell as much as me.

Nothing he tries works as his casting complexity increases to areas and spells I only have a rudimentary knowledge of and the grin on his face grows with each failure. He likes a good challenge as much as anyone.

After half an hour, midway which I relocate to a couch, he stops and throws his hands in the air. "I give up: it's undispellable."

"Is that even a word: undispellable?"

Remus shrugs but doesn't answer as he scratches his head for an idea before giving me a pointed look. "Okay, what is it?"

Death is solution to all problems.

I ignore him, watching the orbs with narrow eyes. No matter how much I want to deny it, a part of me wants to dispel the shields and give into the eyes, and I'm not sure if that is the diluted effect of them or not.

"I know you figured it out already," he says, pointing at my wand. "What is it?"

I breathe out my frustration. I have the solution, there is no doubt in my mind. "Do you know if Madame Laframboise has Russian ancestors? From World War II era?"

"No," is the man's answer. "She never spoke of her ancestry and I never asked. Why?"

"Death is solution to all problems. That's what the thing kept - I guess whispering is the right word, I'm not sure." I shake my head and glare at the eyes looking at me with a ghost of amusement. "I think it's the answer to our problem."

"So what? Are you saying we need a sacrifice to dispel whatever this magic is?" Remus asks, incredulous.

I give him a puzzled look for a moment before understanding. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm saying we shot a killing curse at the thing."

Remus looks me in the eye, searching for something before he turns and the room lights up in green and two pink stones fall to the ground, allowing us to breathe easier.

We wait silently for a minute to make sure the danger has past. When the minute is up, and I realise the diluted effect of the eyes are gone from my mind, I smile.

"Now, that was exciting." ****

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Part 2: Hell of a Birthday & The Morning After**

 **July 31, 1994  
** "James!" I hear the booming voice of Balzac and turn to find him towering over me, a trench coat hanging on his shoulders same colour as his short, dark brown hair. "Happy birthday, little guy." He hugs me awkwardly and lifts me up to his eye level. Freaking giant.

"Thanks. And, sincerely, fuck you for that little guy comment." I smile at him and punch him in the arm though I doubt he feels the hit.

"Swearing does not suit you, James," Dacia clucks disapprovingly at me, French flowing from her mouth like a silk as skips towards me in her soft pink dress, causing her soft-brown hair to go every which way. "I will let it go this once but only because it's your birthday, young man." She gives me a kiss me on the cheek as soon as Balzac drops me on my feet. "Happy birthday."

"What's with all the jabs about my age? You weren't like this last week," I complain, exasperated. "Am I not older than I was a week ago?"

"Don't mind them." Gerard steps forward, pushing Balzac and Dacia and gives me a half-a-hug. He steps back and shakes his head, causing his long blonde hair to flip around. "They are trying to remind you they are still older than you."

"Then I shall inform them I haven't unlearned how to calculate during the past week," I grumble in French, shaking my head in faux-distaste. "Oh, and it's good to see you, Gerard. How is your grandfather?"

His looks away for a moment, troubled. "It won't be long now. He's slipping away further and further every day."

Balzac cuts in, "Enough of that. Today is James' birthday. We shall celebrate and laugh and get drunk like there is no tomorrow."

"Yes, our table at L'Epuisette awaits us." Dacia is very excited about that.

I grumble a little. I don't like fancy restaurants much. Sirius took me to a handful of them so far and I haven't enjoyed myself much there, neither did Sirius though he claims otherwise. They know how to make delicious food, but I still find most of them a little too soulless for my taste. I prefer the so-called 'hole-in-the-wall's and family ran restaurants. But hey, what do I know?

"Where is Paula?" I turn to and ask Gerard.

Balzac, Dacia, Gerard, and Paula are my 'summer friends' as I like to call them. I met them at a daycare for working magical families and parents who want their children to socialise with other children. Except Dacia. I met her when she first dated Balzac two years ago. Unfortunately, they all go to Beauxbatons so I can't see them during school term. Balzac is seventeen while her girlfriend, Dacia is sixteen. Gerard is my age and so is absent Paula.

"She arrived from Italy a couple hours ago. She'll join us at the club."

We enter the restaurant and wait the customary fifteen minutes to be seated. The conversation stops as everyone orders their food and drink.

"Tell me, little guy, have you discovered 'girls' yet?" Balzac asks far too seriously. Credit where credit is due, delivering that sentence without a snigger is an accomplishment. He is right to be proud of himself.

"Yeah, I went outside today and there were these weird creatures with extra bits called boobs," I answer sarcastically. "Thank god, there are no one with breasts in our group." I pointedly look away from Darcia as I say the last part.

The only girl in our little group lifts her nose at me. "I will not lower myself to your level."

I chuckle. "That'd be the day."

That does it. "Now, see here, mister, I'll have you know I am a lady. Just because I don't advertise my femininity, doesn't mean you get to be rude," she declares passionately.

Gerard and I laugh while Balzac tries but fails to hide his smile.

Dacia is a Muggle-born Feminist with a capital f. It's too easy to rile her up about women's rights, whether magical or Muggle. It's a little game we like to play, not that any of us thinks she's in the wrong with her ideals.

Potential lecture from Dacia is cut short by our food. We eat and chat about unimportant things. The ongoing Quidditch World Cup and France's shameful performance comes up a lot.

"So, Balzac, are you excited to come to Hogwarts? You know, the greatest magical school in the whole wide world?"

"Who wouldn't be excited to go to a school where Basilisks and Trolls roam the corridors and Professors attack students?" Is it me or was that answer sarcastic?

I play my trump card. "We have Dumbledore."

"That, you have but does he teach? No." This time it's Gerard who answers.

"We have Hagrid." All I get for that one is a confused silence. I decide it's a good time as any for a change of subjects. "Do you think you'll get picked for the tournament?" I ask Balzac.

"I doubt it. I am not even in the top five of our year."

That's one quality I like the most in Balzac. He's unfailingly modest. A guy who knows his strengths and weaknesses and doesn't resent others for them.

The conversation turns to the World Cup once again when the desserts arrive and it stays that way until we finish.

With our desserts out of the way, we leave the restaurant and walk to the nightclub. We walk in with no trouble thanks to a concept called 'bribery'. I am told- by Sirius- it is a common practice; one they took advantage of during their youth.

We meet Paula near the club and enter together. The first thing to hit me is the smell. As we move further inside, the music gets louder and my ability to think gets lower. I see people dancing and I can't help realise is how ridiculous most of them seem. I start second guessing Sirius' idea of fun.

 **-JB-**

 **One hour earlier  
** Sirius and Remus walk to the club their young charge will arrive in an hour. Their mission is simple: convince the bouncer of the club to let the children in by any means necessary - cough, bribery, cough - and find a good seat where they can keep an eye on Harry but remain unseen.

"I don't think James and Lily had this in mind when they asked you to be Harry's godfather," Remus whines, for the tenth time that day.

"You may be right about Lily but you know damn well James would want a front seat for tonight."

"True," the werewolf concedes, a small reminiscent smile on his lips. "Still, isn't Harry a little young to be out drinking all night?"

"That, he is." Sirius nods. "But he needs to learn his limits. He's growing up. In two years, he'll pull away from us. We were the same when we were sixteen, thinking nothing could hurt us, thinking we knew best. By then we won't be able to keep up with him to keep him safe. This way, he'll learn how to act and we'll be here to help him if he gets into trouble."

"That's oddly mature," Remus says, confused.

"And let's not forget the comedy potential of a drunk Harry," Sirius adds as an afterthought.

They find the club entrance and make their way to the bouncers. Sirius half drags a mountain of muscles aside to a quiet corner and they start a heated discussion in French, of which Remus only understand every few words due to the distance. Instead, he watches the other mountain in case Sirius pisses them off and requires help.

They talk rapidly for fifteen minutes and a large sum of bills change hands. Sirius returns to Remus' side half smiling, half grimacing. "I need a drink or three."

"Sold a kidney then?" asks the sane one.

"Shut up, Moony. Let's get inside and find a good table to watch my godson humiliate himself. I paid good money for this and I plan to gather blackmail material."

They spend next half an hour drinking and making bets on how drunk Harry will get and how much he will make a fool of himself. You know, parental things.

"Here they are." Remus nudges Sirius.

"My boy grew up," Sirius cries dramatically. "Soon, he'll bring girls to the house and I will have to catch him sneak them out in the mornings."

Remus shakes his head though the grin on his face is evidence enough of what he thinks of the idea.

They watch as Harry and his company order drinks and dance. Well, his friends dance. Harry... He imitates a drunken monkey.

"The boy can cast spells that would make an adult balk, create his own even and play any instrument his eyes closed, fly like he was born on a broom but, by Merlin, he can't dance," Sirius comments, his eyes never leaving Harry, fascinated.

"This... There is no describing this. It must be on purpose." Remus' eyes wide as he watches the train wreck, wincing at the highlights of the performance.

"Oh, good. He stopped dancing."

"And now, he's brooding."

"Where did I go wrong?" Sirius looks up at heavens. "This must be my fault somehow."

Remus nods, agreeing.

They keep watching and discussing Harry's impeccable style for the next hour and a half. They agree that James and Lily must have been drunk when they made Harry.

"They are leaving," Sirius points out in relief and they chug their drinks and rise to follow their charge.

Before they could take a step away from the table, Sirius sits back down with his head between his hands. "Why is Harry staying? No. Harry, don't do this to me. I can't take it anymore."

The two men watch as Harry downs a shot and make his way towards a group of girls. He asks one of them to dance.

Sirius whistles. "At least he has good taste in women."

"Yes," Remus agrees. "That girl is a veela."

Sirius just facepalms using the table, repeatedly, causing few people near them to look at him with distaste until Remus interrupts, "She agreed to dance with him."

"What?" Sirius's head rise in shock. "I can't believe it. If I danced like that, no woman would ever touch me with a ten-foot pole."

"I am constantly surprised any woman will come near you," Remus jokes.

"Everyone's a god damn comedian. A galleon says he'll kiss him and gets slapped." He takes out a Galleon and slaps it on the table before raising his hand to a waiter for new drinks.

Remus considers for a long moment. "I'll take that bet." He adds his own galleon to the table.

They spend next hour planning how they will mock Harry for his dancing and recount their past successes with women. You know, manly stuff.

Sirius nudges Remus. "Her friends are leaving. I guess this is the moment of reckoning."

"There she goes," Remus comments sadly.

"No way!" Sirius exclaims when the girl in question leaves her friends' side and joins Harry on a table. "She stayed?" He shakes his head unbelievingly.

"Maybe he's a veela too," Remus offers weakly.

Sirius' only response is to look at him like he's crazy. He pushes both golden coins towards Remus who looks at him questioningly.

"She stayed, man. If he kisses her, she'll kiss back. I can't believe my godson is cooler than me. I never landed a Veela. I need a drink."

For the next two hours, Sirius drinks away his existential crisis and Remus watches the proceedings with amusement. They watch as Harry kisses the girl and takes her home.

Sirius looks at Remus concededly. "He really is awesome."

 **-JB-  
**  
I watch my friends leave and make my way to the bathroom to wash my face. Tonight was fun. The moment I realised I didn't like dancing, I focused all my attention on embarrassing my friends. You should have seen their faces. They most definitely regret bringing me to a club. Except Balzac. That dude rocks the dance floor as well as I do.

Mind you, I'm not saying I could have done better. Dancing is just not in my blood, I guess.

I return to the bar and order a shot of liquid courage. There is a reason I stayed while my friends left. During my eye-catching performance, I saw this blonde girl, this goddess. She must be a few years older than me. When I say goddess, I don't just mean beautiful. I mean the way she moved, the way she commanded attention…

This must be what they call hormones because, dammit, I want to touch her and make her laugh. There is an aloofness to her, like us lowly mortals don't matter and I want to matter.

I drink my nervousness away and walk to the table she's sitting with two other girls, both of whom are beautiful in a mortal sense. "May I have this dance?" I ask chivalrously, holding out my hand.

She turns and judges me. "No."

I am not surprised. I watched as men after men asked her to dance. It must get tiring. I have to prove myself to her if I want her time.

"Why not?" I grab the free seat next to her and turn it around before sitting down, my attention is on her and her only.

She sizes me up, glaring at my presumptuousness. "Tell me why you asked me instead of my friends and I may give you a chance."

"Because I don't like dancing." It makes sense. No?

"And that's a reason to ask me to dance?" she cocks her head to a side and questions my sanity.

"Yes. If I am to ever enjoy dancing, it would be with you," I explain. I look directly into her eyes and talk rapidly and rhythmically. "You move with a grace I have never seen." I turn to her friends and offer, "No offense, ladies."

I turn my attention back to the woman of my future dreams. "You don't walk, you glide. The way you move on the dance floor commands attention; like you are a goddess that rewards us, mere mortals, with your presence. You dance with a purpose. You don't just follow the rhythm, you add to it. I can't dance but I know music and I could 'see'- for the lack of a better word- make the music better. That's why I can't help think you are my only chance to enjoy dancing."

She stares me for a long moment, judging the truthfulness of my words. She can't find any deception because I am talking from heart, and alcohol. What? I am a slightly drunk teenage boy in the presence of the divine.

A blonde friend of hers takes pity on me. "Oh, go on, Fleur, dance with the poor boy."

Fleur. Flower. That's fitting.

The goddess gives me her hand and I lead her to the dance floor. We dance. Honestly, I try to dance while she puts every deity to shame.

That may be alcohol speaking. I'm not sure. I don't care either way.

I watch as her silver hair swings and her hips sway hypnotically. I lose track of time. I try to keep up with her, to understand how can one person be this graceful and purposeful at the same time but I am having no luck.

So, instead of trying to understand, instead of treating her like a mystery to solve, I try to enjoy myself, enjoy her presence. It pays off. I am having a great time. I can say with certainty that only times I enjoy myself and lose myself this much is when I am particularly lost in the music I play on my piano or when I paint. The way she dances makes me want to compose a song just for her; a perfect composition of dance and music.

After a while, I learn to follow her rhythm. We move together instead of her leading me. I stop thinking and just do. I never stop watching her while I dance. I thought she looked like a goddess before when I got glimpses of her from afar. I was half right. She looks even better up close. There is a serenity to her that wasn't present on the table; like she's doing what she came to earth to do and nothing else matters.

She enjoys herself too, her greyish blue eyes shine brighter and I smile in response and move just a little closer to her.

A lot of time must have passed because I notice her friends make their way out of the club from the corner of my eye. I lean into her ear and speak regretfully. "Your friends are leaving, I think."

She turns to where her friends are and I feel despair. This is what coming face to face with a dementor must feel like.

"Get me a drink while I talk to my friends." She looks at me, her blue eyes soft and her pink lips curled up in a gentle, sultry smile, and suddenly, there is joy on earth once again.

I feel my pride rise. You may think less of me for thinking so but I feel proud of the fact that while most men would kill to have just one dance with her, I had my dance and more, and now, she stays to spend more time with me while her friends are leaving. I must be doing something right.

I nod and make my way to the bar. I order a glass of martini for her and whiskey for myself as she talks to her friends. I pay for the drinks and make my way to a table in a less crowded part of the club.

Two minutes later, she walks back, her hips swaying, and I thank whatever gods may be for my luck. She really didn't leave.

She sits down and I ask, "Why didn't you leave?"

"Do you want me to leave?" She tilts her head and pouts cutely.

"No. I find myself enjoying dancing with you more than I would have thought."

"Good. You aren't half bad."

My chest puffs under the half-praise. "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"You," I state simply.

She smiles a true smile and I am in love.

I can tell she doesn't do that often, truly smile, and that is a crime of highest order. The aloofness she wears like a second skin, it's a sad, sad thing. She makes the world more beautiful simply by smiling.

"I go to a boarding school near the Pyrenees mountains. My father is a law officer and mother is a... crafter, I guess you could say. I have a younger sister." Her tone is formal despite her smile.

"Good for them. But I want to know more about you, not your family," I clarify. "What do you enjoy in life? What excites you? What saddens you?"

She looks at me appraisingly and I sit up a little straighter. "You ask hard questions, Mr?"

"James Black, at your service." I smile my learned Potter half-smile. Sirius was adamant I learn how to smile like my father. I should thank him.

"You are an Englishman?"

That sounded a little like an insult but I truly can't care any less.

I can also see she's avoiding answering my question but I let it go. "Yes, after my parents' death, my godfather adopted me and we moved here." I know that is more truthful than I normally allow myself to be but at the moment I don't care. If I tell her something real, she will tell me something real. I don't know when we agreed to it but that is the deal here. Tonight is far too magical to dirty with lies.

"I am sorry." She looks at me with sad eyes and I hate that. I want to kill Voldemort for indirectly causing her to frown, no matter how irrational and ridiculous that may sound.

"None of that, now," I admonish her. "Your eyes shine brighter when you smile."

Her smile returns and I am lost.

"It's my birthday today and I want to celebrate the life they gave me instead of mourning the lives they lost."

"That's a good philosophy."

"I know," I say and allow the silence to take hold. I am more than content with watching her in silence.

"I am beautiful. And that's all I am to most people; just beautiful. It doesn't matter if I act like a vapid blonde or I talk about most complex issues. Most people won't or can't see past my beauty to talk to me. That's why I love to dance. It lets me express myself and for once, my beauty helps me instead of being a hindrance. That's also why I love to play the violin. With music, it doesn't matter how beautiful I am. Only the music matters. It's never just entertainment. I can be my innermost self."

Isn't that sad? Yes, I asked her to dance because she looks magnificent when dancing but it's a sad world where people don't listen to her. There is a hard to match intelligence in those sky-blue eyes. Humans are stupid.

"It's criminal, really. You are both beautiful and talented." I shake my head and whine with a smile. "I am just talented."

"Talented in what?"

"Most things, really." I wink. She grins. "I'm good with most instruments but I enjoy playing the piano the most. I paint. I am good at making things, like sculpting and carpentering." That edges close to being a lie but hey, I can't very well say I am good at Transfiguration to a Muggle, can I? "I love to create. My life, at least the most defining aspects, is filled with destruction. My parents' death. Followed by more death and cruelness. When I am in my temple, when I am creating, be it playing the piano or painting, I feel useful. I feel like I add to the beauty of the world; and the cruelness, the pain and selfishness that are always prevalent in life don't matter. The art, or whatever you want to call it; it lets me share a part of me I can't express with simple words."

I can see the interest in her eyes, not at me per se but it still gives me pride. "Talented, indeed."

"I know. I'm awesome." I massage my neck and smile flirtatiously. She laughs musically, her hand finds my arm and I dance a jig in my head. I did it. I made her laugh. "Why don't you smile more often?"

"What makes you think I don't?"

"I'm not sure. Intuition? There is an aura of melancholy to you, wrapped in this aloofness you created for yourself."

"Let's dance," she orders me instead of answering and I am but her lowly subject.

We make our way to the now less crowded dance floor and dance. She is closer and I can feel her body heat causing my blood flow to change.

We dance the night away and to a new day. Our bodies get closer; I feel luckier; the dance floor gets emptier.

One song ends and I find myself lost in her eyes. I stop thinking. No, I don't stop. I simply can't. My eyes find her lips involuntarily. They are just there, so damn kissable, but I can't find the courage.

She does. She kisses me. The world disappears around me. I am lost, and I never felt this good. I don't need a map where I am because I don't ever want to leave.

Damn, maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink but at the moment, I don't care.

Her arms tighten around my neck and I deepen the kiss. After a while, I end it, cursing my mortal body and its need of air, and look into her magnificent eyes.

"Take me home," she whispers and I sing a happy birthday song.

It's good to be me.

 **-JB-  
**  
We don't waste a second after entering the house; I direct her to my room, and boy, oh boy, do we have a great half an hour. Half an hour filled with sweat and ecstasy, and I am now a religious man.

After resting, I give her one of my shirts to put on and hold out my hand for her to take. "Come, I want to show you something."

She looks at me doubtfully but agrees.

I lead her to my temple, the room where my instruments are, where I paint, where I read. This room carries my essence. I made everything in here or bought from the best. I can feel her interest in the room; she's impressed. It's hard not to be. The room is a work of art if I do say so myself and she agrees.

I hold out my violin to her. "I want to hear you play," I tell her when she looks at me questioningly. "You said you love the violin."

"I'm not going to play for you," she informs me haughtily, a small smile still grazing her lips.

"I'm not saying play for me. I want you to play with me."

She's not sold on the idea, I can tell. So, instead of using words to convince her, I put down the violin on a desk and sit on the piano bench. Without waiting, I play.

For a while, all she does is watch me and I enjoy the feeling being judged gives me, the excitement. After a minute of listening, she joins me with the violin. Judged and found worthy.

When the song ends, I don't start on another one. I want to hear her play, and watch her. She doesn't even bat an eye. She just plays.

It takes me a couple seconds to recognise the piece she is playing. She's playing Nothing Else Matters.

Damn, she's cool.

What? I like a good rock song, sue me.

I watch her for a while and commit the scene to my memory to paint later. She is beautiful in every sense and the fact that standing there only in my t-shirt that barely covers her pale blue knickers and playing her heart out makes me feel giddy.

I sit stock still for too short a minute and enjoy her at her most beautiful and at peace. I join her only after she looks up at me with a raised eyebrow that practically orders me to.

We spend the next hour playing song after song. No word leaves our lips. We communicate only through our instruments, saying things we can't mean. I tell her to keep me in her heart. She tells me we could be heroes just for one day. We go back and forth, and during that hour, she rewards me with more and more smiles that only the rare person ever sees.

There are no words, no sentences worthy enough to describe how it feels to watch her play and, more importantly, play with her. I know I will remember tonight forever, and tomorrow, I will sit on that same bench and play the same songs with my eyes closed, dreaming of this moment and imagining her violin escort me through the music.

After playing to our heart's content, we return to my room and follow it with another round of lovemaking, a more intense one fed by a mutual understanding of what we shared in the temple.

We fall asleep with content smiles and nothing between our bodies.

 **-JB-  
**  
I wake up with a mild headache and a weight on my chest. The weight on my chest is something wonderful, but I don't know why or how I know that. I open my left eye and see the silvery hair. Memories rush back and I can't help myself, I breathe in her delicious smell and smile.

I enjoy the sensations coursing through me as I caress her skin for ten minutes before I gently roll her over, kiss her and get up. I put on a boxer and a t-shirt and make my way downstairs to the kitchen. Four eggs sizzle on a fry-pan but something is missing. I feel great and I must enjoy the moment to the fullest.

Two minutes later, it hits me: there is no music. That is a crime and I know just the song for the occasion. A flick of a wand later, a record starts playing and my morning is perfect. I return to my cooking - if you call making a cheese and pepper omelette cooking.

I hear footsteps and turn to see a most saddening sight: Fleur is dressed. "It's a crime to cover that body." I smile at her.

"Original," is her only response.

"I'm making an omelette."

"You know how to cook?" she asks unbelievingly.

"Only some breakfast food and spaghetti."

"You must good." Her voice is devoid of any emotion but sarcasm when referring to the song I chose: Feeling Good by Nina Simone.

"What makes you say that?" I'm not sure but I think she's not too happy at the moment, and slowly but surely, her mood sucks out my serenity.

Fuck.

I focus back on cooking and an awkward silence ensues. Once done, I turn off the stove and serve the omelette and some fruits, and pour us some coffee. We eat in silence. I want to talk to her but I get a feeling she's not interested.

Fifteen minutes of tension-filled silence is all I can endure. "Are you not a morning person, or did I offend you somehow?" I ask, looking her in the eye.

"I'm fine," she intones, looking away.

"I thought that was a myth." She looks at me questioningly. "You know, women saying 'I'm fine' when they are obviously upset about something."

She shrugs and continues eating.

I let it go for now and we finish our breakfast in silence. She wants to get out of the house as soon as possible. I don't want her to.

Sirius chooses that moment to walk in. "Morning lover birds."

I see Fleur get flustered, a red tinge on her cheeks and a tightness around her eyes, and I curse Sirius internally and with my eyes. "I should get going," she says and I want to kill Sirius. He must have sensed my doubt regarding the usefulness of his existence because he flees the room with no effort to make it seem natural.

I look at Fleur's retreating form pleadingly.

What? I don't want her to leave. Give a guy a break. It's not everyday you meet someone like her. A whisper escapes my lips, "Please, don't."

She doesn't turn back, still facing away. "I really should."

"Why?"

She takes a breath before turning and regards me with cold eyes. "How old are you, anyway?"

Fuck.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters a lot." For a moment we regard each other. I can feel disappointment roll off of her in waves. "This was a mistake."

"Why?"

The blonde turns around and raises her nose at me. "You are but a child," she sniffs, "and I was drunk."

That sounds like an excuse.

"Don't insult my intelligence by lying."

"You wouldn't understand."

I tilt my head. "You haven't tried to explain."

She doesn't explain. I sit still, my chin resting on my intertwined fingers as my elbows are on the table and wait for her to make a move, make a decision but there is nothing. I don't want her to leave but I will not have her walk all over my pride so I decide for her.

"It's funny," I intone, "how what's beautiful at night can turn ugly on sunlight." A dry chuckle, void of anything good, escapes my lips. "Goodbye, Fleur. It was nice to play with you."

Oh, yes, I can be an arsehole when I'm ticked off.

She looks at me and for a second, her regret is tangible. "I'm sorry," she whispers in a sad little voice.

"Don't be," I tell her. "I will remember last night with fondness. This morning... Well, not even you can be perfect."

She stands there hesitating for a moment before twirling around and leaving the house.

I hear Sirius entering the kitchen a few minutes later but I don't look up. "I'm sorry, kid," he sighs.

"Have I told you how much I hate you?" ****

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 3: The Gentle Full Moon**

 **August 21, 1994  
** I am so excited. Tonight, I will join my first run as a Marauder. Well, flight for me but… whatever.

I know it may not seem as much to you; a bunch of dudes turning into animals and running around in the wild. For me, it's a big deal. Tonight, I will honour my father by following in his footsteps. By being there for his friend at his worst.

Marauders were more than just friends- Peter notwithstanding- and tonight, I will reinforce my connections to the two father figures in my life, no matter how unnecessary it is in truth.

We- that is Sirius and I- are in the great hall in Hogwarts, eating lunch with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Dumbledore; waiting for Remus. We returned to Britain early for both the full moon and the Quidditch World Cup final.

Professor Dumbledore gives me a pointed look and gestures towards Professor McGonagall before winking. Message understood, I nod and take one last bite of my meal before standing straight and stretching my muscles.

I glance around the table to make sure I have McGonagall's attention and jump using my seat as a step, turning to a rough-legged hawk and flying a couple circles around the great hall before zipping back and sitting down like nothing happened, turning to human mid-fall.

The hardest part of it is ignoring the shocked looks of the teachers at the table and pretending like I never left my seat. Sirius has a cocky smirk plastered all over his face while Albus is imitating me: acting like nothing is out of ordinary.

Okay, maybe I am imitating Albus' general disposition but hey, this is my story.

First to gather his wits is Flitwick. "Congratulations, James."

"Thank you, professor," I reply humbly and give the excitable man an appreciative smile.

"James Black!" Minerva shrieks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, professor, I didn't want to tempt fate by turning into a bird while there is a hungry cat around," I answer with a smug smile.

"Congratulations, young man. I trust you will not use your newfound abilities for causing trouble like certain young men I remember."

Sirius puts a hand on his chest, offended but no one gives him more than a pointed look.

I sniff and raise my nose in the air, acting like I smell something distasteful. "You offend me, madam. I would never break rules or act in any manner less than that of a perfect knight unless I have a good cause."

She glares at me but the effect is ruined by the smile on her face. "Yes, like the time you set loose a bunch of charmed bats in the potions classroom that would multiply every time a spell hit them."

I can see Sirius trying to hold his laughter from the corner of my eye.

"Professor Snape looked very upset that week. I thought he could use the support of his family." I put on an innocent expression. "Not that I'm saying I did it, mind you. I am just speculating on the possible motive of the scoundrel responsible for that excellent charm work."

"Or the time you charmed every suit of armour and convinced every painting to say 'I am Batman' in that god awful voice every time Severus walked past them," supplies Professor Sprout, always helpful.

"Batman is an international hero and deserves to be celebrated."

Sirius loses the battle completely and barks out a belly deep laughter. I never got around to mentioning the small war going on between Snape and I.

"Or the time you somehow charmed Severus' robes to exclaim 'No dandruff, just fabulous hair' every time he did that robes billowing trick of his," Professor Flitwick adds, though he has no quarrels with shoving his appreciation of my charm work.

Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall are all smiling now while Dumbledore finds the ceiling of Great Hall fascinating. Sirius is breathless, guffawing with a red face.

"I never saw any dandruff on his hair, ever. Have you?" I retort. "Besides, this is all pure conjecture. If you keep tarnishing the good name of Black, I will have to call my lawyer."

Remus chooses this moment to walk in. "What's going on?"

Sirius brings Remus up to date in-between laughs while I continue my exaggerated act of innocence.

Now, I must be clear on something. I'm not a prankster like the twins. I did all those things, true, but I did them as a punishment when Snape was being considerably more of an asshole than usual. He deserved every one of those pranks.

Besides, it's damn funny to watch him turn red, knowing it's me behind the pranks but unable to prove it and having to ask Flitwick for help.

I turn to Remus when Sirius is done and ask him, "Are you ready for tonight?"

He nods at me a little sadly.

"Me too," I reply and wait for the penny to drop.

"Wait, what are you ready for?"

"For the full moon, of course." I roll my eyes at him like he's being stupid.

"James, last time I checked, you weren't a werewolf."

"I still am not. What I am is an animagus."

He's lost for a second before it clicks. He knew I was trying to become an animagus but we didn't tell him I finally managed. "You did it?"

"But, of course."

"James and Sirius couldn't manage until they were fifteen."

"I am just that awesome, Remus," I remind him haughtily. "You know that."

"I know. My bad," he concedes. "Ha- James, are you sure you want to join us for the full moon? It's dangerous, you know."

"Oh, come off it!" I admonish. "You are just a gentle puppy when you drink your little potion and you know it. Besides, I can fly, you can't."

"I've never heard anyone call a werewolf gentle puppy before. Okay, fine but I want you to return to the castle at the first sign of danger," he agrees with a sigh.

"Sure, you big, bad wolf. Besides, anything happens and I'll conjure a red scarf and wait for Sirius Orion, the hunter to save me."

Remus answers with a roll of his eyes and a soft punch to my shoulder. "Oh, and Madame Laframboise sends her regards. Those stones are worth over fifty thousand Galleons each and she was more than a little miffed about how long the job took."

I smile, satisfied that little adventure turned out so profitable. "Good. I would hate it if I almost killed you for less than that."

 **-JB-  
**  
The sky is dark as we walk out of the castle doors and make our way to the forbidden forest to wait for the full moon. We hanged a bag of clean clothes on a thick branch of a tree, knowing Remus would need them if not all of us. The werewolf amongst us has already drunk his wolfsbane potion so we are good to go.

I can't wait to stretch my wings. I love flying. There is no comparison to the freedom it allows me and the fact that I will have that freedom tomorrow as well makes everything better in the grand scheme of things.

I'll be honest, I've not been my cheeriest self since my birthday and it translated into many an hour in the sky, dancing with the winds instead of a goddess.

The effects of the upcoming transformation are clear on Remus' face as his scars get more pronounced with the pain-filled grimace on his face, and shallow breathing gives him a rabid vibe. He seems more energetic yet sicker.

It's sobering, seeing him like this. It's easy to forget he's a werewolf when you see him any other time of the month but the day of the full moon and the days before and after. I can't help feel closer to him by sharing what he considers his lowest.

We sat in silence while the sky gets darker and darker, and the moon comes up at its earnest. Remus' growling is our signal to transform. A minute later a dog and a hawk circle around the man.

Hair sprouts out of every inch of Remus' skin and his mouth transforms to a snout of a wolf. His back arches and he finishes the transformation to a grotesque version of a large wolf, whimpering on the ground.

Moony howls to the moon and Padfoot soon joins him. I can't howl but I add my high-pitched, cat-like cry to theirs.

Padfoot nudges Moony with its snout and runs off, leaving Moony and me to chase after him.

The three animals let loose on the forest, chasing each other and playing with each other. I can feel I am losing myself in the instincts of the bird the more I fly. Normally, I'd try to keep it in check but for tonight, I am an animal.

I fly up, leaving my companions on the ground and watch the magnificent view from up in the sky as I allow the wind to hold me up. Hogwarts is beautiful, the moonlight is reflecting off the windows and giving it a haunted vibe. Once I am high enough, I let go of my humanity completely and do what hawks do best. I dive to the ground.

It's exhilarating, the speed, the rush.

I am a chill guy. Without the trappings of many things that demand time and effort normal people face, I can safely say I am freer than most but at this moment, I am free in every sense of the word. There is no homework I need to do, there is no snitch I must catch, no society to force upon me their demands and views. There is only the wind and me. There is only me and my family.

I swoop low and chase after the lowly animals that can't fly. I hit Padfoot in the head with a wing as I pass him by and he barks at me, chasing me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. We continue through the night to play and run and fly.

I understand now. I understand just what made Marauders the Marauders. I understand why they were such close friends and just why Pettigrew's betrayal was so unimaginable and why it stung so much.

Pettigrew will die. I know that now.  
 **  
-JB-**

 **August 23, 1994  
** I wake up from a nightmare with a jolt and draw my wand in a rush, bathing the room in a bright light. Breathless and soaked in sweat, I grimace at my pounding headache and blindly feel for my pounding scar to find it bleeding. It's odd. The charm on my necklace that disillusions my scar has never failed before.

It takes me a minute to get my bearings and realise what woke me. It wasn't a nightmare. It was a vision because no nightmare is that real. I refused to consider the implications of what having visions of Voldemort means in my state.

I put on a shirt and make my way to the Headmaster's office. He must be told about this. Arriving to the third-floor corridor and in front of the gargoyle that guards the Headmaster's office, I whisper the emergency password Albus gave me and step on the revolving staircase.

Once up, I knock and wait to be invited in. I don't have to wait long as I hear Albus' voice a few moments later and walk in. He's in his pyjamas and let me tell you, you wouldn't believe what he's wearing. His pyjama-robes are normal. I can't believe my eyes.

"Sit, Harry. How can I help you?" he asks in a voice that is sleepy yet appropriately serious.

Just as I sit down, Fawkes lands on my shoulder and demands me to pet him so I do.

I take a minute to gather my thoughts. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm just surprised to see you so..." I trail off.

"They are pyjamas, Harry." He looks at me pointedly.

"Yes, but they are so... normal," I whine, using the time to find the words I need to explain my vision to the man.

"Harry, there must be a reason for you to come to my office this late in the night."

"Yes, sorry, Professor."

I describe the dream. I tell him about Voldemort. About Wormtail. About the now-dead Muggle. About Bertha Jorkins. About Voldemort's servant in Hogwarts and about his plans to abduct Harry Potter somehow.

I leave no detail out. This is Albus Dumbledore and there is no question of trust between us. If he asked me to stab myself, I'll do so and then ask what's next.

"This is troubling news."

A sigh escapes my lips. "Professor, you are wise and all that, but sometimes, you say the most obvious things."

He smiles his signature smile number thirteen. The one he uses when he knows something uncomfortable that I don't. Damn. I must've missed something but what?

"Tell me, Harry, what do you think it means for you to have this dream?"

I think about it long and hard. "It can mean one of two things. I am either a seer which would suck, or I have a deeper connection to Voldemort than you originally led me to believe, which would suck even more." I close my eyes for a moment and breathe deep, knowing the answer already before giving him my full attention.

He looks a little guilty. "Indeed, I have suspected something like this but never could know for sure until now."

He leans back on his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach, silent and thoughtful. I can see the gears in his head turning; he's planning and plotting so I don't disrupt him. I instead focus my attention on the hot chick on my shoulder.

Fawkes is a damn cool Phoenix and I can't help but feel my jealousy rise up. How cool it would be to have a Phoenix familiar. Puck is great and I love him but, dammit, he's no Phoenix.

Though, honestly, he's more attuned to my personality than a Phoenix could ever be and I wouldn't change him. Maybe two familiars? Hm. This thought requires further pondering.

Albus returns to the present and looks at me imploringly. "I fear what I am about to offer will be most upsetting for you."

I wait nervously for him to continue. "Do you know what Occlumency is?"

"Ability to protect one's thoughts from outside influence, be it reading by a legilimens or memory charms," I answer monotonously.

"Close enough for our purposes. Occlumency is the mastery of one's own mind in all aspects, and it includes protection from influence, outside and inside."

"Okay, but why, Professor?" I ask. "Isn't having insider knowledge to Voldemort's plans a good thing? It's like having a spy that can't be killed."

"That is essentially correct, but I fear, no road is one way." He's in teacher mode. No condescension. No answers forthcoming. As always, he drops hints and makes me work it out.

"So, it means he might have access to my mind too." I groan. "Okay, you are right. I need to learn Occlumency but why is that a bad thing?"

"We have one person in Hogwarts who is an expert of occlumency. He's so good he could fool the best and has done so in the past."

My mind runs a mile a minute. It's not McGonagall, she's far too obvious and I like her teaching style. Besides, she has the wrong bits to be called a 'he'. It's not Flitwick, he's a part goblin. His brain structure and chemistry differ from mine so he probably couldn't teach me efficiently, magic notwithstanding. There is no way it can be Hagrid. I mean I love the guy but he's just… You get it. It must be someone Albus trusts implicitly. Someone who he wouldn't mind if knew my real identity.

I groan in realisation. "No. Nope. Nada. Nein. Non. No way. Never."

"Harry, I implore you to think this through. Severus is the best occlumens I know," he pleads.

"What about you?" I look at him hopefully. "You are a legilimens. I know you are. To be a legilimens, you must be way beyond an adequate occlumens. You can teach me."

"But Severus is much better at it than I am. He had to be, to fool Voldemort. And you know I will be too busy this year with the tournament."

"Then give me the books you have on Occlumency. You know I'm good at self-study. I can learn this by myself just as well. I already know meditation techniques that works for me, albeit not perfectly. It won't be too high a jump to learn Occlumency." I know I'm babbling but dammit, I don't want Snape anywhere near my mind if I can help it. "You can test me when you have the time to see if I am doing well enough. If I don't live up to your standards, I promise I'll let you choose which path to take. I just can't, in good conscience, give Snape allowance to prowl through my mind."

He considers it for a moment before nodding his consent. "I can't stress enough how important this is, Harry. If I feel, at any moment, that you are not doing well enough, that you aren't giving it enough attention, you will go to Severus." For the first time, he doesn't just say it, he informs me. He's never that commanding with me which means he will make me do it if he thinks it's necessary.

"Yes, sir. My only project right now is the welcoming ceremony, and it is near completion. I reached a block in my studies into Enchantments so I might as well focus on something else."

"Good boy."

I sigh in relief at a bullet dodged and give the man a crooked smile. "Seriously though, normal robes that makes no one's eyes water? This is surreal."

Albus chuckles and gives me a mischievous look over his glasses that says I am about to regret my smart-arse comment. "It's because I don't normally use pyjama-robes."

I screw up my face in confusion before realisation hits me like a cauldron of pepper-up potion. "Please," I plead. "Don't say it."

"I sleep naked."

"Ugh."


	3. Episode II

**Chapter 1: Bird's-Eye View**

 **August 25, 1994**

Say what you will about wizards and witches but no one can't deny they know how to throw a party. That's what Quidditch World Cup is. One giant party.

I walk between thousands of tents with the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, Sirius, and Remus; and by Merlin, this is magnificent. Everywhere I look, people of different origins lose themselves in the excitement, celebrating and I have no idea what they are celebrating yet. I don't think they do either. This is not about just Quidditch anymore.

These people are drinking and horsing around like there is no tomorrow or there is no Quidditch match this evening. There are men lying on the ground, passed out drunk, and it's only noon. Children of all ages running around reenacting their favourite parts of past games. People bet on who will win the game, play pickup matches with complete strangers, cook meat with unholy amounts of fat in it on grills...

There is no order. There is only chaos and I love it. It's colourful and alive. It's everything magic is.

Our dysfunctional family make their way to where our tents are. One borrowed from Mr Weasley's friend, the other rented by Sirius. We are a group of thirteen in total. Even with the best of wizarding tents, it will be a tight fit tonight.

The rented tent is all ready when we reach our destination but the Weasley tent is not and Mr Weasley insists we do it 'the Muggle way'. He says the Ministry is adamant that everyone has to act in accordance with the Secrecy rules.

That must be a joke that Mr Weasley took too seriously because… I mean… People are flying in the air on broomsticks with colourful fumes coming out of their arses for goodness' sake!

Ron points in every which direction and rolls his eyes. Even in the best of times, magical people have trouble with being inconspicuous but when you put a hundred thousand of them together, you may as well say 'fuck the secrecy'.

Mr Weasley sends the quartet, as some call us, to get water from a nearby well.

I can feel Ron's complaints before even he opens his mouth so I drag him off before he can run his big mouth off. After we put some distance between ourselves and Mr Weasley, I turn to the redhead. "Ron, the man loves Muggles. He wants to pretend to be one for this once. Let him have his moment."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts, Ron. The man busts his balls at work for you all day every day. This one thing, you can do without complaint. Besides, we can use magic. We only have to make him think we are 'Muggle-ing' the shit out of this."

Hermione comes to my rescue. "I agree with James. But still, language!"

I roll my eyes at her. "Hermione, don't you ever tire of acting all prim and proper? Swearing once in a while is good for the soul."

"Of course not. There is no need for you to speak in such a brutish, uncivilised manner."

I shake my head, take Hermione's arm and drag her towards the water-well to stop her from continuing this needless debate. The other two follows behind.

A few minutes into our adventure, Neville slips and headbutts the dirt. "I think I stepped on puke."

"Nothing a little ' _Evanesco_ ' won't fix, mate."

Hermione slaps my arms. "We are not allowed to use magic outside of school."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione. Look around you. A hundred thousand people will attend this game. Do you really think the Ministry can track underage wizards in this crowd?"

Ron nods and adds, "Besides, Ministry can't even track underage magical activity in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade."

We all look at Ron like he grew a second head. "What? I know things too."

"We know you do, Ron," Hermione says soothingly and more than a little condescendingly.

Neville waves his wand with not a little trepidation and cleans his shoes. We don't move for five minutes for an owl to show up.

"See, no owls." Hermione's brain kicks into gear as she considers the implications of this glitch in Underage Magic Tracking System™ and I can see a lecture brewing in that brilliant mind of hers so I push her forward.

This is so not the place to discuss the unfairness of the ministry's tracking policy.

We make our way to the well and return with a bucket of water in each. We spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the festive mood and horsing around.

 **-JB-**

The sky darkens, and it's time for us to make our way to the stadium. It's upsetting that we can't all watch the match together but life goes on. Ron throws me a jealous look because we get the best seats but says nothing. The five of us, Hermione, Neville, Remus, Sirius, and I, make our way to the top box.

Prime seats my ass. It's freezing up here. Warming charms on the seats helps but only marginally. But I have to admit, the view from here is great. The whole stadium is just under my feet and, honestly, whoever made this stadium did a wonderful job. More than a hundred thousand seats. Twenty large screens connected to omniculars to show highlights. The way the stands curve in to the pitch in the middle, then out again. Who knew British Ministry of Magic could do something well?

We take our seats and chat about the line-ups to pass time. The box slowly fills and the added body heat helps keep the cold at bay. I see the Minister make his way to the box with two other men, one is a tall, thin blonde, and the other is a short, burly man with thinning brown hair.

He sees me and smiles like a cat that got the canary. "James, dear boy, fancy seeing you here," his voice booms and he shakes my hand enthusiastically. I guess I left an impression on him with my enthusiastic show of spell-crafting.

"Good to see you too, Minister." I stand up and give a small bow respectfully. "May I introduce you to my father, Sirius Black?" I wave my hand towards Sirius and they shake hands. "Next to him is a family friend, Remus Lupin. Next, we have Neville Longbottom, a dear friend of mine. You probably know his grandmother. And this gorgeous lady is Hermione Granger, smartest witch of Hogwarts." I lean into the Minister's ear and stage whisper conspiratorially, "I'd watch out for her if I were you, Minister. She will be in your seat in two decades."

"Really?" He eyes Hermione as if to know where her smarts are, an opportunistic gleam in his eyes. Odd. "Why don't you send me an owl in a few months and we'll see if we can arrange a summer internship, my dear."

Hermione's cheeks redden and I can see she's excited by the idea. "But... I'm a Muggle-born..." she stammers.

"Muggleborn, schmuggle-born. There is always a place for the talented in the Ministry," he informs Hermione with a dismissive wave. I'd be lying if I say I am not surprised. Fudge never seemed like the guy to have, you know, opinions. "James, let me introduce Ministers Oblansk and Murdock. The Bulgarian and Irish Ministers of Magic, respectively. Gentlemen, James Black is one of our rising stars in Hogwarts."

I shake both men's hands and make to speak but am interrupted by a clearing of a throat. I turn to see Lucius Malfoy, his arm candy: Narcissa, and an example of why inbreeding is bad: Draco. "Ah, Mr Malfoy, it's good to see you here, sir. How is Dobby?" I ask him cheekily.

Ah, Dobby. One of my proudest achievements. It's not often one gets to steal Malfoys' house-elf. Well, not steal. Free. Dobby is a free elf and I pity anyone who tries to say otherwise because Dobby is a hyperactive ball of psychopathy. The dude has liberal ideas about what the word 'help' means. Anyway.

I can see Malfoy senior's anger rising and his fight to control it is admirable but all too obvious. I turn to the Minister and stage whisper, "I played a little prank on Mr Malfoy a couple years ago that resulted in his loss of a house-elf. I don't think he likes me very much since then."

Fudge's eyes widen in surprise and I can hear Sirius sniggering but ignore it. "Nonsense. I'm sure Lucius understands the trials of youth and being excited. It's good to see you, my friend." He shakes the blonde's hand and I lose interest in the proceedings.

"I should leave you to your politicking, Minister. I hope you enjoy the game."

"You too, James."

I return to my seat and my people. This will be a great night. I can feel it in my bones.

 **-JB-**

I am considered a talented seeker by the people at Hogwarts. Compared to Krum, I am but a toddler. The man can play. I probably can fly as well as him, if not better thanks to my newfound animagus instincts, but as a seeker, he's in a whole other league. Hell, it's like we play two different games.

He didn't just chase the snitch; he interrupted plays; he drove the Irish seeker to the ground repeatedly. I can't decide if I want to play against him or I hope I never do.

The match is over. Krum got the snitch but Ireland won. Everyone around thinks Krum was an idiot for catching the ball when he did but I can understand his reasoning; he wanted to end his team's suffering. Irish chasers were making a mockery of the Bulgarian team. I mean hundred and seventeen to ten? Really?

Being a seer must be in my bones because I was right; it was a great night. The game was great. I may not enjoy Quidditch as much as Ron or Sirius do but when it's played right, it can be a damn good entertainment.

The game alone isn't the reason the night was great. Both team mascots put on a grand show. Bulgarians went for controversial. They had a dozen Veela as their mascots. It was funny to see people try to jump off their seats. Fudge... He almost humiliated the British magical government. Thankfully, I convinced him it was unbecoming of a minister to strip down in public. No one wants to see that!

He owes me a big time. I can still feel the Bulgarian Minister trying to put holes in my skull with his eyes. The Irish Minister stayed in his seat but barely. The Bulgarians definitely know how to play dirty.

The Irish went for home pride with Leprechauns, the tricky little buggers. I don't have the heart to tell Ron that Leprechaun gold is transfigured air. If that wasn't the case, the goblins would slaughter them all to the last man.

Now, we are back in the Weasley tent and watching Ron reenact Krum's best moves with sound effects and all. My boy is in love. The twins mock him and he transforms into a tomato.

You cannot not love this guy. He's all too easy to rile up.

I'm lying on the couch with my head on Hermione's thigh, enjoying a scalp massage from her. Neville is sitting on the armrest and stealing all too obvious glances to Ginny. I consider teasing him but choose not to. He's coming out of his shell. It wouldn't do any good to tease him back in to it.

Sirius, Remus, and Mr Weasley are at the table, drinking firewhisky and talking about this or that a little too seriously.

Charlie and Bill are on the couch next to the one I'm sitting. Bill is recounting one conquest or another, again. No, not tombs and such. Women.

I can feel the contempt Hermione radiates, and can sympathise.

Charlie, for his part, nods along and tries to change the subject. That dude is cool. He feels like an older brother I'd love to have. That's not to say he's not a stereotypical hot-blooded male. No, he tells a good story about his successes with the ladies as well but he knows how to tell it tastefully. Just last week, he made even Hermione laugh at one. Hell, I bet he could impress Dacia, the queen of all feminists.

Bill's are… let's just say I never knew there was that many positions and women seem to talk too much during sex. Whatever.

Percy is sitting apart from us looking like if he indulges in anything fun, the world might burn and frankly, I'm okay with that.

"Tell me, Mr Black, have you finished all your homework?" Hermione questions me in an eerily McGonagall-like voice.

"I finished the ones that matter," I drawl. I cross my fingers and hope she doesn't catch on.

"Which means you didn't finish them." From her tone, you'd think I killed someone and stashed their body in a dumpster after cutting it to manageable pieces.

"Must we do this now, sis? I hate potions and you know Snape will give me a Troll no matter how good I do. Binns doesn't even check if we did our homework. Why, oh, why, should I even bother with two subjects I won't be even taking after OWLs? The only reason I did the Herbology homework is that I like and respect Professor Sprout."

"James William Black!" Oh boy. Hermione used my full fake name. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission. "No surprise you get abysmal scores when you don't even do your homework. How many times must we go over this? Teachers give us assignments for a reason. How can you learn if you don't do your assignments, for goodness' sake? You are getting off this couch and finishing your homework this instant!" She would've continued but even she needs to take a breath occasionally.

"Hermione, love, let's not argue."

"But-"

"Hermione, you know you won't win. Haven't you figured it out in the last three years you can't make James do anything he doesn't want to do?" Neville cuts in. My hero!

"Hey! I ate that god awful mini-trees Hermione insists are good for me the other day. I still haven't shat since then."

"James! Language! And they are good for you." She lightly slaps my head. "How do you expect to live a long healthy life if you don't have a balanced eating habit? Besides, that you haven't pooped since eating healthy shows how deplorable your diet really is."

It's too easy, distracting Hermione from ranting about something by manipulating her into ranting about something else. I can see Neville has caught onto my trick by his rocking shoulders.

"I don't want to live long if it means I have to eat those disgusting things," I inform her. "Ron, back me up here."

"Food is food, mate," he answers.

"Judas!" I sigh. "It's my fault, really. You would eat your own shit if it's on a platter."

"Hey! I'm not that bad."

Silence ensues where everyone looks at Ron like he grew a second head. We do that often.

"Am I?"

"Yes. Yes, you are, Ronniekins," one twin confirms while the other nods vehemently.

"But we love you anyway," Ginny offers as a consolation prize.

"That's because I'm too loveable," Ron informs us seriously. "I mean look at me. One big pile of cuteness. If I was an animal, I'd be one of those bears that girls think are too adorable."

Hermione takes the bait. "A panda."

"See, Hermione thinks I'm loveable too."

Merlin. Did Ron just flirt? What is the world coming to?

"Prat," is her only response.

 **-JB-**

I am woken up rudely by Sirius' loud voice. "Kids! Get up! We must go right now! Get up!"

I lift myself off the bed groggily and look around confused. I hear screams and understand the gravity of the situation. I kick Ron and Neville to wake them up. "Get up, guys. Something's wrong!"

I hate my bones. They always lie.

I enter the lounging area of our tent and see everyone is up and about in their pyjamas. "What's going on?"

"Death Eaters!" is all Sirius offers as an explanation but it's enough.

Mr Weasley takes charge. "Kids, I want you to make your way into the woods, to the portkey. We need to help the Aurors. We'll find you when things settle down."

I smile and it is predatory. I'm not a violent guy. I don't look for trouble. Trouble usually finds me but I'm not someone who could sit on the sidelines while people risk their lives and I'm not above wanting to hurt some Death Eaters. I turn to Sirius and Remus and we exchange nods. They know I won't just walk away from this. No matter how much they may wish otherwise and they know I'll be safer with them than if I sneaked around alone.

"James, come with me," Sirius nods at me, "rest of you, woods, now!" I follow him and Remus outside. Three of us make our way to the middle of the chaos.

"I'm going to get a bird's-eye view. Be right back." I swiftly turn and fly towards the fires.

It's mayhem. I count thirty monsters. They levitate and play with what I assume is a family of four muggles like they are nothing but rag dolls. Random curses flash around and putting tents on fire and blasting apart what was a scene of the celebration of an ancient culture.

A small battalion of aurors make their way from far right.

They must have an inside man because they split into three groups of ten. Aurors can handle the group on the right, the patsies. The middle group is walking straight towards where a group of Ministry workers are converging. That leaves the group going left.

I return to Sirius' side and inform him of the situation. Mr Weasley joins us in the middle of my explanation. Sirius is the most experienced of us in these situations so we turn to him for a game plan.

Sirius orders me to stay close to him. Remus and Mr Weasley will sneak from the left to box them in. Our job is to keep the death eaters' focus on us while Remus and Mr Weasley pick them off one by one. If we can take out a few, that's just a bonus.

Sirius nods at me and we make our way. Ten minutes later, we can hear voices coming from ten of the gentlemen - hah! Gentlemen! - who escaped justice thirteen years ago.

Mr Weasley and Remus break off to left while Sirius and I continue on. We walk silently and come to a clearing.

Sirius may be a great fighter and one of the most talented men I know, I may be powerful and quick-witted but they have the numbers so we need defensive cover. Sirius orders me back towards the woods where we can take cover behind the trees.

We wait in silence for them to come to us and when they are close enough; we unleash the most flashy spells we know at the same time. Sirius opens with an explosion curse that blows apart a tree and creates high velocity wooden shrapnels.

I open with one of my own creations; 'the Flasher'. Three birds fly out of my wand and flashes violently and at the same time with the tree Sirius exploded, blinding three of the death eaters for the duration of the fight and disorienting two of them enough to keep fight easier on us for now.

The death eaters doesn't respond immediately out of shock and Remus and Arthur use that opportunity well. One of them will not be holding a wand soon and two of the temporarily blind men will sleep for the foreseeable future.

Curses rain down on us in a wide range of colours so Sirius and I take cover, casting charms to the trees to increase their structural integrity. I don't want to take the risk of sticking my neck out so I fire two blasters blindly while Sirius transfigures a near fallen tree to a semi-sturdy wall for us to hide behind.

I roll towards the wall and fire a Sonic-Slap Hex just before hiding behind the wall. Sirius looks at me and grins. "Good job, kid, but try not to fire so blindly. Those blasters went nowhere near the bad guys."

"Well, I can't see them, can I?" That's a lightbulb moment right there. I look around and find a small boulder that will do and transfigure it to a mirror and stick it on a tree. Now, we can see what's happening behind our wall.

What's happening is five of the death eaters are stalking towards us. I can't see Remus or Arthur. I hope they are okay.

I turn to Sirius. "I have an idea. Shield me!"

I don't wait for him to answer. I turn and jump up and wave my wand in a complicated pattern that will create a… tornado. I read about it in a book Albus gave me about crafting spells. That shit is crazy. And the crazier part is, the original inventor of the spell intended to create a wind to sweep away the dust.

The problem is that the spell is ridiculously complex, and it takes forty seconds to complete the chant and the wand movements.

Five seconds in, five curses fly towards me and only thing stopping them is Sirius' shield. It's funny. We are fighting death eaters but no unforgivable has been fired.

Another ten second passes and another five curses fly towards me, splashing against the shield Sirius maintains.

Only four spells fly toward me in next volley.

Just as I am about to finish, I hear someone yell ' _Crucio_!' but there is nothing to do but take it. I couldn't very well let all that effort go to waste. A small tornado leaves my wand and I fall down because of the second my intense pain I ever felt.

Have you ever been bitten by a freaking basilisk? Now that was a bitch. This… well, this is a bitch too but not that much.

Five minutes pass. Half an hour pass but there is no release. Finally, at the end of an hour, I feel pain subside and I can see Sirius hover above me. His mouth is moving but for the love of me, I can't hear a thing because of the ringing in my ear.

"That shit hurts!"

"-es… fuck were you… okay?" Sirius says? I'm not sure what he's saying. "James! James! Are you okay?"

"Just peachy. I love the tingling feeling freaking torture curse gives," I stammer, my body spasming with the aftereffects of the pain.

"Are you insane? Why would you jump in the middle of five death eaters like that?" This time, it's Remus yelling.

"What happened?"

Remus looks at Sirius then turns back to me. "Well, there were five of them attacking you. I took out one of them. Your tornado took out three and one portkeyed away."

"See, I took out three death eaters with one spell. Worth it."

"You are grounded for… like ten years or something," Sirius yells.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" I hold out a twitching hand. "Help me up."

I have a different feeling in my bones now.

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 2: Hogwarts Express**

 **September 1, 1994**

Last five days were hectic. Sirius, Remus and Arthur admonished me for my crazy stunt, followed by Molly and Hermione for putting myself in harm's way. After yelling themselves sore, they both gave me bone crushing hugs. I think Molly invented a wandless bone-crushing hex on the spot.

She's cruel.

The next day, Albus came for a visit. His reaction was mixed. He was proud of the way I reacted to the situation but I could see he was more than a little worried about me. Even with my various adventures, taking a Cruciatus right into my chess is a serious business, and frankly, I'm lucky the spell didn't hit me in the head. My brain would have fried.

He stayed by my side while Madam Bones questioned me herself. Turns out, being Dumbledore's prodigy means I am a high profile individual which necessitated the highest authority to take my statement. Minister Fudge's fingerprints were all over the facade of necessary response but Madam Bones didn't seem to be too put out with having to do it.

I shudder to think what the response would be if they knew my alter ego - my real ego? Whatever.

After the visit from the director of DMLE, Minister himself showed up. I don't know why but I like the man… Okay, not really. The wanker is as corrupt as they come. He's not the smartest fella, nor the bravest but he is damn amusing. He congratulated me for my brave and selfless efforts. He didn't seem to know Sirius, Remus and Arthur took part in the fight.

Oh well.

We spent the rest of the days getting ready for the school. Shopping was a bitch, but we managed. Hermione convinced me to finish my homework but I think I'll live. The problem was, we barely made time to play enough Quidditch for Ron's taste. He was grumpy all the time. He had a point though; how can they expect us to live with only two Quidditch matches a day? Heathens!

The worst part was the spasms. Pain was there, but it's bearable. Spasms… They fucked everything up. Do you know how hard it is to eat a meal when your hands are shaking like a junkie on a withdrawal? Or how hard it is to write something down? Not to mention controlling a broom.

Now, we stand on the platform five and a quarter. I like how the entrance of the platform change every year. It's a token effort by the ministry to avoid a breach of Statute of Secrecy.

Quite a group we make. Every Weasley alive is here. All nine. There are nine of them! It's like a locust infestation of a biblical sort.

Then we have the Grangers, a small family of three brunettes. Followed by my dysfunctional family; two not-gay not-parents parent figures and me. We can't forget Neville and the bane of his existence; Augusta Longbottom.

Augusta Longbottom is… undescribable. She's a small woman with a zero sense of fashion. Oh, no. I'm not talking about the hideous hat she wears. That hat has a story that would make Snape cry like a Molly Weasley at a wedding. I'll tell you about it some other time.

No, I'm talking about her colour scheme, or lack thereof. She always wears dull browns and hideous greys, the midget.

One word of advice, never make that woman angry. You wouldn't like her when she's angry. She's the sole reason Neville is alive today. She fought all three Lestrange's and Crouch Jr. to a standstill for twenty minutes until Moody arrived with a handful of other Aurors. After the ensuing fight, Moody received the title of Mad-Eye.

Anyway.

Our little group comprises seventeen people. There is a Quidditch team somewhere in there, with reserve players, coaches, and everything.

Sirius takes me aside to give me last-minute reminders. I don't know why he thinks I forgot what we talked yesterday but going along with it is easier.

He reminds me our weekly meetings to train me. According to Sirius, I did well enough during the riot five days ago but there was a lot of room for improvement. His exact words were; 'You were shit out there! No planning, awful decision making'. I'm okay with that. It's not like spending two training once a week will do any harm, and hey, I'll get to see Sirius and Remus during the school year.

He tells me to follow the rules and follows it with a reminder to give Snape hell. I ignore the inconsistency.

We hug and make to return to our group but are cut off by the lovely Malfoy family.

"Ah, Mr Black. I'm glad to hear you didn't hurt yourself irreparably during the mishap after the finals." He looks me up and down with the same sneer plastered all over his face, one that can be seen on the face of his son often enough. Apple doesn't far from the tree, I guess.

"It was all fun and games." I smile innocently. "I was bored, and it's always fun to play with animals."

He smiles sweetly. "Cruciatus curse can be quite painful, wouldn't you agree?"

So he was the one. Nice to know. "If you think that little amateurishly cast Cruciatus was bad, you should see one of Ginny's bat-bogey hexes." I smile. "You remember Ginny, don't you? Red hair, cute button nose; was targeted by this son of a bitch who was too much of a coward to attack her father like a man? I think it was the same scum who fired the cruciatus but got scared and ran."

His nose flares but he gives no verbal response.

I take a step forward and pat his cheek. "Ah, fun times. It was good to see you, Lucius. I always enjoy our little verbal spars. It's fun to watch you act as if you can maintain an intelligent conversation." I push past him but am stopped by a hand on my arm.

"I'd be careful if I were you, young James. I haven't forgotten about the time you cost me a servant."

I can see Sirius' hand twitch as if he's ready to draw his wand but I shake my head. "Is that a threat?" I ask loudly with a sweet smile

"Of course not," he answers and takes a step back.

"Didn't think so. Not many people have the guts to threaten me."

He towers over me with a threatening glare. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"I wasn't the one to run away during our last encounter," I whisper to him. "Go home, Lucius. Go to your wife and enjoy your time with her. You may never know when tragedy will strike."

"Is that a threat?" he parrots and his hand returns to grip my arm. I ignore the pain.

"Yes." I smile at him cheerfully. "I am threatening you. You will find what I'm capable of if you don't take your hand off me." I let out a little wandless jolt and he takes his hand in shock. "And that, my dear, is why I think so little of you."

We attracted quite a crowd, I realise, as I walk towards our group with Sirius. I can tell he's proud of how I conducted myself and a little anxious because I may talk a big game but Lucius Malfoy is a dangerous man.

"Is there a problem?" Arthur asks when I am close enough to hear.

"Nope. Just a little chat."

Sirius snorts to my reply. "Lucius tried to threaten James. Didn't work out the way he intended, I wager. The Express will be buzzing with rumors."

"James!" Hermione hiss at me. "Lucius Malfoy is a dangerous man."

"Really? I didn't know. It's not like he was a death eater who got away by the way of gold. And it's not like he's responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets." I glare at her. "Oh, wait! He was behind the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and he was a death eater who escaped justice." I speak loudly for audiences' sake. "And worry not, my dear. Just like I killed the monster he unleashed at the school, I will make sure his next plot to hurt me or anyone in Hogwarts fails," I continue in a clear voice. I wink at Hermione and she understands.

Around us, people start murmuring. Let's see if Malfoy can touch me now.

 **-JB-**

We spend first half hour of our journey in silence. Hermione is tense, and it's stressing everyone else. At first, I let it go but enough is enough.

"What would you have me do, Hermione? Run away from him?"

"No, but you shouldn't attract unnecessary trouble. He's a dangerous man. You said it yourself; he was a Death Eater."

"Not was; _is_. He was the one to use the cruciatus."

"And you ask why I think threatening him was a stupid thing to do."

Ron comes to my defence this time. "Hermione, the man is a criminal. He was the one to hurt Ginny. She still has nightmares because of that man. I say he deserves worse than a threat."

"Think about it for a second, Hermione. If anything happens, people will most definitely blame Lucius Malfoy for it. Even if he wants to come after me, he knows he'll be a prime suspect."

Apparently, Neville doesn't agree. "I'm not so sure. He got away with being a Death Eater, didn't he?"

I turn to him. "Yes, but it was a time of chaos. There were many people implicated that Ministry of Magic arrested over two hundred people, with only sixty convictions. Even Sirius was under suspicion for some time, remember? Some people slipped through the cracks, especially those with money and connections."

"Besides, think about how this will affect public perception of him. Everyone was licking his boots last week but now, everyone suddenly 'knows' he's a bad person who escaped justice thirteen years ago, who opened the chamber of secrets and who likes to threaten school children. While these rumours are circulating, he's a monster and I'm a brave little schoolboy."

The moment I finish, the door to our compartment opens. Susan and Hannah enter. "James, I heard Malfoy's father threatened you!" Susan squeaks.

"See, Hermione?" I brag and she responds by harrumphing. I turn to Susan "What did you hear?"

She repeats everything that happened and how everyone 'knew' he was a criminal mastermind all along.

Ron looks at me like I am the second coming of Merlin for a second. "Bloody hell."

"You know I'm awesome, Ron. This shouldn't surprise you." I smile cockily. He responds by rolling his eyes.

Hermione shakes her head. "I still think it was a bad idea."

"The rumours are true," I inform Susan, then proceed recount what happened.

After the usual show of concern, the two Hufflepuffs leave. More people show up to get first-hand confirmation but the rest of the ride goes with little fanfare.

When the ride is over, I am surprised. Malfoy junior didn't show up for his traditional start of the year taunt. I can't help be disappointed.

 **-JB-**

 **September 12, 1994**

There is something missing here.

That's the thought running through my mind as I snog Katie. There is something missing.

Truthfully, she's a good kisser and a beautiful girl and I'm hard... Ehm. Anyway. It's great kissing her but compared to how it felt to kiss Fleur, it's little bland.

My right hand moves from her back to her leg. What? Just because it's not as good, doesn't mean I'll say no to a nice snog with a beautiful girl. Especially because I don't think she'll run away from me when the morning comes. And it's not like I'll ever see Fleur again.

I squeeze her leg and hear moan faintly. We break for a little air. She smiles at me cutely and her eyes shine brightly. "I wanted to do that since last year."

My throat feels a little dry suddenly. What's just a kiss for me is obviously something more to the beaming brunette on my lap.

"Katie, I..." I don't know what to say. I want to kiss her more and show her how springy my bed is but I don't want to do anything to break her heart and the way she looks makes it clear I just might. "I am thirsty. Are you thirsty?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr Black?"

Merlin's saggy balls. That's both cliche and funny.

That's what I like about Katie the most. She's funny. Even when she says the stupidest shit or the most cliche things, she still is funny.

"I think we are both drunk enough. I was thinking non-alcoholic beverages."

Her smile loses some of its brightness. "Sure. Get me whatever you are having."

I get us both non-alcoholic beer and give one to her. "Katie... I want to be honest with you. I really enjoy kissing you as I'm sure you noticed." She giggles. We both can _see_ just how much I enjoyed it. "But I don't want you to get the wrong idea, I'm not looking for anything more right now."

Her smile is gone by now and I hate that I'm the reason she looks sad. "What are you trying to say?"

"I... Look, I'm attracted to you. You are beautiful. You are fun. You are smart. But… I don't like you that way... Shit. I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"

She gives me a nod. "Yep. You are." She sighs sadly. "Well, I'm not going to lie to you. I like you. A lot. But if you want tonight to be a onetime thing, I'll understand."

"Are you sure? Like I said, I care very much about you and I would hate to see you sad for any reason, let alone be the reason."

"James. I'm a big girl." She glares at me when I snort. "I'm a year older than you, aren't I? I won't waste my tears just because we fooled around one night and stayed friends."

I grin. "So I can go back to kissing you?"

"You should. I enjoyed that very much so before you put your foot in your mouth."

"You are right. Your tongue tastes much better than my feet."

"Damn right, mister."

 **-JB-**

 **September 23, 1994**

I enter the classroom Sirius told me to be and-

What? What happened?

I sit up groggily, a small pressure leaving my mind slowly.

"And here I thought Moody would teach you vigilance," I hear Sirius' voice from above me. "Where is your sense of awareness?"

"Fuck you! You attacked me from behind. How am I supposed to know you were there?" I glare at him as I stand up. "It's not like I can expect to be attacked from behind by my own frigging father!"

"Okay, I might have gotten a little ahead of myself but this is how I was thought when I was in the order."

"Let me guess, Moody was your instructor?"

"Yep."

"He's one crazy bastard. I want to learn to fight, not become a young version of that guy."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "You know my teaching experience from last year didn't cover this, right? It's not like I have any idea what I'm doing."

"How about we start with a simple duel? After the duel, you can tell me what I did wrong and teach me some cool tricks."

"Good idea."

The classroom we are in is empty except for two desks and a handful of chairs and is barely large enough for a duel but we'll make do. He goes to the other side of the room while I stand in front of the wall closest to the door.

Disorientation from the stunner is long gone so I'm ready for whatever he throws at me.

He stands opposite of me with his feet parted a shoulder length so I copy his stand. He gives me a nod and I start with a disarming charm.

The problem? Well, he's a fighter who fought in a war and I'm a school kid with a big ego which from the looks of it is going to be deflated quite a bit today.

I wake up groggily for the second time in four minutes to find Sirius looming over me, and this time, he's right to be upset. "What the hell was that?"

"Well, you fired two spells almost at once. I dodged the first one but the second one hit me in the chest before I could fire up a shield."

"Wow. Aren't you smart?" Sirius gives me a hand and pulls me up. "That was just awful. The worst footwork I've ever seen. I expected to be faster with a wand but I thought you could at least dodge properly. You saw the second stunner's trajectory yet you walked straight into its path."

"I know. I know. I didn't expect you to be _that_ fast, so I acted on instinct."

"We will have to teach you some better instincts."

And we did just that. We spent the next two hours on dodging exercises. Turns out, I am fast on my feet but I don't have the balance to dodge well enough.

That will change.

I did well during the riot but we had the advantage of surprise and they were disorganised.

One thing is certain; I am much more motivated than I was before the lesson. I will learn how to defend myself. I have to. With the amounts of trouble I get in, not knowing how to fight and defend myself is not an option.

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 3: Friendly Discussions**

 **October 1, 1994**

The first month of school passed by with nothing of note happening. Except for Mad-Eye Moody's classes and the general excitement because of the Triwizard tournament, it did not differ from every other year I've been in this school.

Mad-Eye showed us the three unforgivable curses, but that's no big deal. I mean why would it be a big deal to show school children curses that are deemed so foul that casting them on another human being is an instant ticket to Azkaban. Now, if he cast one of them on us- let's say the Imperius- that would be awful.

Oh, but wait! He did. I don't know how he convinced Albus that it was a good idea. One good thing came out of it though. I completed the set. I have had all three unforgivable curses cast upon me. At least I fought it off.

My new training is going great. Once a week, Sirius and Remus come to school and beat me to a pulp, magically. It's so much fun.

Pain is fun. Yay, me!

I haven't forgotten about my promise to the Headmaster either. I am working on Occlumency. Progress is slow- as in no progress. The books Dumbledore gave are great. I mean I am assuming they are great. I still haven't figured it out what it means to 'clear one's mind'. When I try not to think, all I manage is thinking about not thinking. How is it a person can 'not think'?

At the moment, I'm making my way to Albus' office to have a little chat with him. Normally, we would meet once a week to discuss one thing or another, but he is too busy this year for that kind of arrangement.

I give the regular password to the gargoyle and climb up the stairs. I won't say this to his face but I missed the old man. Without his little riddles to solve, my life is duller.

I knock and enter when he calls me in. "Hey, Professor," I call as I sit down on a chair.

"Hello, Harry. How are you this fine evening?" he welcomes me jovially.

"In pain." I grimace. "The man who is supposed to be godfather is a monster that enjoy hurting little children, and werewolves are mindless beasts."

"Now, now, Harry. You were so eager to learn how to fight." He's far too cheerful. "I'm sure they are just trying to... impress upon you the importance of a solid defence."

"No. He is a bad man and I hate him," I declare with a childish pout.

He smiles at me kindly and sucks on a candy. Seriously, what is it with this guy and candy? "Are you finished with your little show for the incoming schools?"

Yeah, 'little show' my ass. He's acting nonchalant but I know just how much he wants to win that little bet for reasons beyond my understanding.

"Don't worry. I'm all ready. Even you will be impressed."

"I am already impressed by the things you are capable of, Harry."

I'd say he's trying to butter me up, but he's right. I am impressive for my age. No, I'm not blowing my own pipe. Frankly, it's a little freaky how awesome I am.

"I still won't tell you what I will be doing. You will have to wait and see,."

He sighs but lets it go. "How goes Occlumency?" He turns serious.

"I'm making progress, as in I have no clue what I'm doing. I just don't get how I am supposed to empty my mind."

He looks at me inquiringly, like he's searching for something. "What do you feel when you meditate?"

"It depends. Sometimes, I come up with a great idea for a spell or a painting. Other times, it's just too loud to focus, like I have a million things to do but I can't focus on one of them to do it." I shake my head. "It was easy to meditate when I was trying to become an animagus. I had something to focus on. I was exploring my instincts, my base characteristics; getting to know myself. I don't understand how I am supposed to focus on nothing."

He stays silent and thoughtful for a long minute before talking. "Try to paint or play music before you meditate."

"How is that going to help?"

"Tell me, Harry, what do you feel after you finish one of your projects?"

"I feel complete," I answer with no pause to consider. "Like I've done what I was born to do and I can just rest in peace." To be honest, it is one of the best feelings in the world, completing a painting, finishing a project, finally being free of the weight. "I think best analogy would be farting after a long day of keeping it in," I tell him with a smile.

He fails to keep in a snort. "You are a remarkable young man, Harry. You have a great capacity to feel. You see everything around you for what they are and when you don't let it out like you do when you paint, it all becomes too distracting for you. Your mind is too chaotic, too scattered. Occlumency is the ability to master one's own mind in its essence. For you to do that, you need to isolate your emotions and thought process."

I hate that it makes sense. "Does that mean I will only be able to occlude - or whatever it is called- after I am done with my projects? I won't be able to protect my mind most of the time?" The idea is more than a little worrying because that would just be horrible and impractical.

"I don't think so. Now, remember, this is not an exact science. The rare people who attempt have different experiences with Occlumency. I think once you achieve a good enough grasp, you will be able to protect your mind even when you are in one of your creative episodes." He smiles sympathetically.

"Okay, I'll try that."

"Wonderful."

"How are preparations for the tournament going?" I change the subject.

"Not bad," he lies obviously. "It's difficult, pleasing all the parties, but I think we will have an entertaining year."

"You sound like you hate every second."

"I hate politics," he confides with a nod and an unashamed grimace. "I truly hate it. I can't describe how much I hate it. I'd give up my candies to be free of politicians."

"Don't say that! That's blasphemy!" I exclaim jokingly and he laughs.

"Okay, that may be going too far. You are right. I can't live without my candies." His eyes are twinkling away madly at this point. "But I can't stress enough how difficult it is to deal with people who obsess over littlest of details."

"You should let Snape loose on them. He'd insult them into submission." I'm not sure if I'm joking or if I truly believe it's a good idea.

His reflexes kick in. "Professor Snape, Harry."

"You know, I think he spends his summers on writing down every insult he can think of," I tell him conspiratorially. "There is no way he can come up with such creative ways of calling someone an idiot. Just the other day, he told me he thinks it's a miracle I could learn to spell my name with only two brain cells."

"Severus is a national treasure, Harry." Damn! Did Albus just make a joke about Snape? Miracles never cease to exist.

"I know. That's I keep saying we should bury him."

 **-JB-**

 **October 15, 1994**

"Hello, young Harry."

"Hello, Firenze. How are you this beautiful night?" I ask Firenze.

I am in the forbidden forest. Wait, before you think I am an idiot, let me explain.

After Firenze saved my life three years ago, we met once a year to talk. It began in my second year. When the Basilisk petrified Justin, most of the school blamed me for the attacks. During a particularly restless night, I, being the reasonable kid I was, went for a stroll in the forest.

Firenze found me wandering, and we got to talking. It was his persistent mentioning of the dead roosters that gave us the second clue about what Slytherin's monster was.

My visit to him in my third year wasn't a coincidence though. I enjoyed Firenze's company, so I visited him in third year again. Same as this year. I'd love to meet with him more often but the dangers of the forest and the fact that his clan doesn't like it when one of their own is involved in human affairs means once a year is the best we can do.

"The stars are exceptionally bright tonight."

"I still don't get how you can tell the future by looking at the stars and by the feeling of the forest."

"We dedicate our lives to the art of reading and listening to the signs, child," he informs me, "while you humans waste your time on ridiculous things."

I ignore the comment on my species. "Hogwarts grounds will be crowded this year. Two other schools are coming for a competition."

He snorts. It's funny. I thought his snort will have a more horse like quality to it but it's oddly human. "Ah, yes. Triwizard tournament. A chance to win eternal glory."

"Yeah, I'm not too sold on it either. It sounds more like a pissing contest." I shrug. "But hey, maybe I'm just bitter because I can't compete."

"I was but a foal when the last one was held here, two hundred seasons ago. No one won that one. Eternal, indeed."

Wow! Who knew centaurs could do sarcastic so well.

"I know there is no such a thing as eternal glory. If I were to compete, I'd do it to test my limits. Not for some silly prize. It's all irrelevant though. I wouldn't enter even if I could. I have enough projects right now."

He glances at my face, interested. "What are they?"

That question is a perfect example of the thing that makes Firenze special. His curiosity and heart.

Centaurs, for reasons I'm not wise enough to comment on, are not social creatures. They prefer to stay out of the affairs of other sentient beings, even intellectually. They don't wonder and question human affairs, don't try to understand us.

Not that humans are different, mind you.

But Firenze is different. He is always full of inquisitive questions and fresh perspectives. A conversation with him is a breath of fresh air.

"I will orchestrate a little welcoming performance for the visiting schools. I'm learning Occlumency; the mastery one's own mind. And I'm learning how to fight. With how much trouble I find myself in, I think protecting myself is more important than proving myself in some tournament."

"It's good that you are learning to protect yourself, child. Mars is getting brighter every night and shines on you brighter than everyone else. You will need it."

I nod even though I do not understand how he can see Mars from here to tell the difference in its brightness or what that brightness means. And the more personal part of his reading… Well, I won't touch that with a ten-foot pole.

"I am going to leave you now, Harry. Do be careful this year. There is a restlessness in the air. Troubling times are ahead."

Oh, shit. I'm most definitely screwed.

"Good night, Firenze. Thank you for the warning."

 **-JB-**

 **October 16, 1994**

"... and he told me there is a lot of restlessness in the air. He said troubling times are coming."

We are in the common room, by the fire. I can tell Ron doesn't have a clue about the significance of my conversation with Firenze but Hermione understands.

She sucks in a deep, deep breath. Merlin! How many lungs does she have? "Man! You are going to somehow get sucked into this tournament, aren't you?"

"Hermione! I am appalled that you would think..." I trail off dramatically before shrugging. "Yeah, I don't know how, I don't know who, I don't know why but I agree."

"You must tell Dumbledore, James. He needs to know."

I nod in agreement. "I know, Hermione, but he's away for the next week or two."

"I don't see why that would be a bad thing," Ron comments, eyes unfocused, a wistful smile on his lips. "I'd kill for a chance at eternal glory. Not to mention the prize money."

Sometimes, I want to punch Ron in the face so bad.

"Yeah but James is already rich and I don't think he needs this tournament to make a name for himself. He's Dumbledore's golden boy." Neville says, the last part with in a far too mocking tone. Maybe it's not a good thing for Neville to learn self-confidence.

"Hey! I am a man," I sniff.

"That answer alone proves you are not," Hermione snickers.

"Just because you are a year older than me, doesn't give you the right to belittle me, lady."

"Sure thing, little brother."

"I hate being the youngest!"

"Tough luck, mate. Get over it."

I put my hand in my heart. "Et tu, Ron?"

"Bless you."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Don't you ever read, Ron? 'Et tu' is Latin for 'you too'. According to Rome: A History, they were the last words of Julius Caesar."

"Hey! Didn't we eat those bread with sausage things there this summer?"

I can't help it, I roll my eyes. "Julius Caesar was a famous Roman politician and general, Ron. Little Caesars is a pizza chain and unrelated."

"I don't care about the politician but I sure can do with another one of those slices."

"Yes, Ron. We all know how much you like to eat."

 **-JB-**

 **October 24, 1994**

I hate potions. Not because it's taught by Severus Snape. Hell, if it wasn't him teaching it, I wouldn't even bother going. You see, Snape and I have this love/hate relationship. I love to hate him and he feels the same way about me.

He's a bitter man but highly intelligent and has a talent for coming up with the most creative insults. It's an art form to him.

Coincidently, I am in potions class right now. We are brewing aging potions. I think he's trying to tell us something by making us brew this potion but that's not important.

What's important is I somehow managed to blow up a potion that involves no ingredients that can blow up. That begs the question, how did I blow up daisies? They are _daisies_.

"Black!" the master of bats scream. Hermione looks at me pityingly but I ignore her.

"Yes, sir?"

"How?" is all he asks but the incredulous glare on his face finishes the question for him.

To be honest, he has a point. What I did is the equivalent of blowing up water.

"I dunno."

"You don't know? I see you have your father's intellect, Mr Black."

I'm surprised. He never mentions Sirius. Never. It's odd, really, how he always avoided it.

I don't know why but I have to do this. I have to see the look on his face when the realisation hits. "But I have my mother's eyes, right, sir?"

He looks me in the eye for a long second and his eyes widen with recognition followed by pure shock and disbelief. "My office, now," is the whispered order.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" I salute.

He turns and swiftly walks into his office. I follow him at a sedate pace and roll my eyes at the looks in my classmates' faces. You'd think I'm walking to my execution.

When I enter his office, he's already sitting behind his desk so I sit on the chair across the desk and wait for him to say something. He stays silent for a long time and just watches me.

"Why now?"

I hate to say this but it says a lot about the man's intellect that he skipped past ridiculous questions. Dammit. I hate having positive thoughts about Snape.

"This is the first time you brought up Sirius. I don't know why you never went that route, and it felt fitting to come out to you the first time you did. Besides, you should have seen the look on your face. I will always remember that look fondly."

"Second reason is that Albus wants me to learn Occlumency from you." I can see how much he enjoys that idea. "I convinced him to give me until the winter holidays to learn. If I can't, he will have you teach me. Which means you might have to enter my mind. If that were to happen, you would find out anyway, and I'd prefer to have this conversation in my terms."

He puts aside the terror the possibility causes in him and nods.

"More importantly, I need your help. I think someone will force me to compete in this tournament. I would have gone to Albus, but he's away from school right now and I don't want to interrupt whatever it is he's doing just because of a suspicion."

He considers what I said for a minute. "Why me? Why not go to Minerva?"

"I love Minerva. She's a great teacher. But she's incapable of doing anything without asking Albus first. I thought about telling Sirius or Remus but they don't have constant access to the castle. And they might do something crazy like pull me out of the school." Corners of his mouth turn upward at the idea but I ignore it. I think the small smirk on his face is more because of the idea of me going to him instead of Sirius than hypothetical freedom from my presence.

"What do you want me to do?" To be clear, he's not asking for his orders. His tone is far too sarcastic for that.

"I don't know. I don't have a clue how one may go about forcing someone else into this thing. I don't even know why someone would do that, or who. I just know something is coming and I can't help think it's somehow related to this tournament."

"Do you really want me to believe you don't want to compete in this ridiculousness? You? James Black or whatever you call yourself?" he asks disbelievingly.

"If it was any other time, I might cheat my way into the tournament, true. But not right now. I don't need the distraction."

We stay silent for the next five minutes.

He sighs and throws me a dirty look. "Fine. I'll investigate the matter and see if there is any truth to your paranoid intuition."

I grin at him smugly. "This doesn't mean I will go easy on you."

"Oh, how I hate you."

I smile. "I know. Isn't it great?"


	4. Episode III

**Chapter 1: Red**

 **October 30, 1994**

I stand next to the Headmaster in the courtyard, shoulders squared and gaze proud. Behind us are all the teachers of the school and spread on both sides are the students of all four houses, dressed to impress.

We are waiting for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to come.

I asked Dumbledore how they planned on arriving but he was more cryptic than ever. Let that be a lesson: the old man is not above petty revenge. Still, I'm certain my surprise will triumph that of other schools.

It's cold out here. We are in the middle of autumn in Scotland... so no surprises there. The visiting schools will be here soon and I am ready. I have my enchanted staff resting on my shoulders, the necessary seeds are planted all over the large yard. and I am rested.

Creating a staff that can channel magic is difficult. Even the staffs made by world's best crafters work only a dozen times. After that, all that is left is a wooden stick that looks pretty. There is a reason Merlin is such a renowned figure.

And I am not great at enchanting things. I poured everything I had to this staff and yet, it will only work this once. Still, the show I will put on will be great enough.

The headmaster nudges me out of my musings and points to the lake. Something is disturbing the normally calm lake and the Giant Squid is flailing restlessly, and suddenly an enormous ship comes out of the water like a fucking submarine.

Man, that's cool.

He points to the sky next and I see a speck that is slowly getting bigger.

I don't think it's a coincidence both schools arrive at the same time. Bastards. This would be hard as it is with having to do it one at a time. Now, I have to do it at the same time.

But, it takes a great deal of cooperation so who am I to judge.

Besides, I've never been the one to back down from a challenge.

The speck in the sky gets bigger and bigger, and dammit, that's a carriage pulled by seven Abraxans.

The pissing contest is not a sure thing I thought it would be, I guess.

The magnificent beasts land and the giant ship docks.

A mountain of a boy jumps out of the carriage and places something- a stool, I guess- on where he landed a second ago. The boy's identity dawns on me; Balzac himself.

A large lady steps down from the carriage and stands next to Balzac. Now, I need to point out that boy is huge at six-foot and seven inches but next to this lady, who I'm assuming is the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, he seems like a first-year student.

I can hear murmurs of the Hogwarts students from where I am standing and I can imagine how hard it must be for Professor McGonagall to not admonish them.

Durmstrang Highmaster's exit does not have the same effect. He's a thin man with an old-fashion, bad guy goatee.

Both school's students line up behind their respective heads except for one student each. A silver-blonde girl from Beauxbatons and a burly dude from Durmstrang stand next to Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff, respectively.

I lift off my staff and wait for them to move. Both schools move at the same time and if I didn't know better, I'd think they practiced together.

This part will be hard. Not only I need to cast a massive special counter-spell at the seeds I've planted, but I also have to get them into right positions simultaneously.

Let's hope the staff can handle the magic.

I slam the staff down with their first step and continue to do so every two steps. The effect is better than I hoped and the sweat immediately pouring out of me without a care for the coldness of the Scotland, is a small price to pay for it.

Dry ice forms on the muddy ground where I hit the staff and creates two pathways to both groups to make it easy to allow for an easier walk and the gas released adds an extra layer of beauty to the castle.

On the Beauxbatons side, each time I slam down, bushes of blue roses sprang on both sides of where the Headmistress is.

On the Durmstrang side, the same thing happens but with small ash trees with blood red fire burning on the branches.

When they are halfway to where we are, I slam the staff more forcefully but without breaking the rhythm. A rooster and a double-headed eagle materialise. Rooster is France's unofficial national symbol while the double-headed eagle is the symbol of Durmstrang, I think.

Neither is as cool as a dragon though, so I conjure a small dragon made of shadows five feet in front of me. It's sleeping peacefully.

The rooster and the eagle lead their people to where we are. Roses and trees keep springing up each time I slam the staff and my vision is blurring around the edges.

It's an impressive sight and the teachers and students of Hogwarts agree. Pride and fatigue fights inside me but on the outside, I'm perfectly composed. It takes a hell of an effort to conjure so much in so little time and doubly so because of the choreography.

They are now close enough for me to see their faces and I falter. The surly boy next to Karkaroff is Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker, but that's not the reason. The girl walking next to Madame Maxime is none other than Fleur and she looks just as beautiful as I remember.

She's a witch! And she's here. I don't know whether to be excited or disappointed.

I gather my wits once again and continue my rhythm as if I never even missed a step. It's okay, even the best of us make mistakes.

They get closer. The rooster and the eagle are now right in front of my sleeping dragon. Both birds gave a cry and nudge the dragon. After two nudges from each, the dragon wakes up and unleashes a small inferno on them. They are burned down instantly.

The dragon huffs a breath of smoke and falls back to sleep. The smoke rises into the air while the dragon dissolves away and the smoke forms Hogwarts' motto in a dripping letters; Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.'

I am so happy it's over. I can barely stand. I twirl the staff and air clears and all the conjured roses and torches disappear.

Fatigue exacts its vengeance and I have to lean on the staff while Headmaster Dumbledore walks up to Madame Maxime and kisses her hand. One advantage of her size is that all he has to do to kiss her hand is stand normally. He exchanges the standard welcoming niceties while I gaze on Fleur. She looks back inquiringly with a raised eyebrow.

I lift my now almost useless staff an inch and give a gentle tap on the ground. A single tea rose rises up right in front of her. She takes the flower and smells it, a small smile on her lips.

The message is clear if she understands the flower language; 'I will remember always.'

— **JB—**

I am sitting at Gryffindor table with my trio of friends and a handful of students from Beauxbatons, notably Balzac. We are eating and chatting amicably. I can tell Balzac wants to tease me about the last rose I conjured but says nothing.

The feast is great even by Hogwarts standards thanks to the excitement caused by the visiting schools and the foreign food- foreign for Hogwarts that is- offered in honour of the visitors adds a new flavour to the normally British-to-the-bone affair.

The surrounding conversation slows to a stop and I look up to find the reason. It's Fleur. Weird. Why would everyone stop talking just because a pretty girl is near? Okay, maybe she's jaw-droopingly beautiful but... Huh. I get it now.

"Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?" she asks in a broken, adorable English.

I tilt my head and smile. "Sure, go ahead, Fleur." My answer is in French.

Her eyes narrow just a tad. "Thank you."

As soon as she leaves, everyone at the table looks at me. "What? Did you guys want more?"

No one answers but most shake their heads. The whole scene is a comedy gold mine but I can feel the interrogation coming so I don't even bother.

Balzac smiles hungrily at the possible gossip. "How do you know Fleur?"

"I know you, don't I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, because we went to the same daycare. Fleur didn't. How do you know her?"

I glare at him a bit before answering. "I met her on my birthday."

"I was there. I think I would have remembered."

"Ah, but you weren't. You were too embarrassed to stay."

"Because you were dancing like a drunken monkey!" he exclaims and I laugh.

"I know. It was awesome."

"Tell me or I swear..." he trails off.

I ignore the glint in his eyes and smile smugly. "You'll do what?"

"I'll show everyone here one of your naked baby pictures."

I look at him with narrowed eyes. "You don't have a naked picture of me as a baby." His expression turns cocky and I gulp. "Do you?"

"Dacia stole the one with the blue elephant," he confirms. "She thought it was too cute to pass out."

I let out a growl. "I will kill her to death."

"Please refrain from threatening my girlfriend with bodily harm." He puts a finger on his chin. "Will you tell me what happened after we left or should I owl her? It takes what? Ten? Twelve hours for an owl to reach France?"

I chance a look around me and see all my friends are listening with rapt attention. "Fine. After you left, I asked her to dance. She said no. I convinced her to. We danced all night." I say all that rapidly and under my breath but they understand anyway much to my chagrin.

"That's not the whole story," Hermione butts in.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you, James Black. Finish your story."

"Nope. That's all you will get from me." I turn to Balzac. "And no, no picture will make me tell more." He looks a little disappointed.

"We were studying by the lake one day last year when this beautiful mermaid-" Hermione starts before I shut her up using my hand.

"Nope. We are not telling that story, my dear sister. No one shall ever hear that story. Do you understand me?"

I was a teenager who saw breasts for the first time, okay?! And I couldn't see her lower body because of the lake… Never mind.

"People need a story. Either you finish yours or I'll finish mine," she threatens me when I let her speak.

"I hate you all. Did you know that? Fine. I tried to be a gentleman, but it's too damn hard when you have noisy friends. We danced the night away. I took her home. We had sex. We played music. We had some more sex. The morning came, and she left."

"There is more to the story, isn't there?" God damn you, Hermione!

"What more do you want to know? Do you want me to give you a position to position run down?" I glare at her.

She shrinks down on her seat. "Sorry."

"You don't always have to know everything, Hermione. Some things are personal. You need to learn when to stop."

"I want to hear about the positions," Ron says jokingly.

"Well, you won't. And what you have will not leave this group." I glare at them warningly. "I mean it. Neither she, nor I need ridiculous rumours going around."

They all nod. Balzac opens his mouth to say something but stops when Dumbledore stands up.

"Now that you are all warmed and fed, it's safe to make a few announcements," he jokes while walking in front of the table. "After the feast tomorrow, the champion selection will take place."

I see Filch roll up a golden casket encrusted with jewels that is just too ugly. Whoever made it went a tad overboard.

"Champions will be selected by an impartial judge." He taps on the casket and it melts away into nothingness. "The Goblet of Fire. Everyone wishing to enter needs write their names and school on a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet. You have twenty-four hours to put your names in."

The showman-smile on his face turns to a thin line and his eyes narrow. The change is far too smooth but conveys the importance of his next words more than enough. "Because of the high mortality rate of the past tournaments, it was decided that only those of age should be allowed to participate-"

He's cut off by a collective show of outrage by everyone underage. He raises his hands and silence returns to the hall. "As I was saying, _I_ will draw an age line around the goblet to ensure those underage can't put their names forward."

"A word of advice," he continues gently and grimly, "do not enter this tournament lightly. Those who are picked will have to face many dangers. It is not for the faint-hearted." His tone is grave. "Now that that's out of the way, it's time to head to bed. Off you go," he finishes cheerfully, no sign of the previous gravity on his face.

I find it awe-inspiring how quickly and successfully he can change tones. He knows how to keep an audience on their toes. He nods at me so I get up and walk over to him. He leads me to the anteroom behind the staff table.

"That was quite the performance, my boy. Well done."

"Thank you, sir. I hope you win your little pissing contest," I answer cheerfully.

"Now, now. Even old people are not above their foible." He peers at me over his glasses and smiles playfully. "Severus gave me the most surprising news the other day. I thought you didn't want him to know."

"I needed his help. Best way to ensure it was by letting him know who I really am," I answer the unasked question.

"It's good to know you are trusting him."

"I don't trust him, sir. You trust him. I trust you." I shake my head. "Besides, no matter how much we dislike each other, I know he would protect me. He may be a bitter man but he'd protect any student who needs protecting."

"I'm glad you think so, my boy. Now, you must be tired after your splendid performance. Get rest. You did well today."

"Thank you, sir. Good night."

"Good night, Harry."

 **-JB-**

 **October 31, 1994**

Today was a fun day. There were no classes, so I spent quality time with my best friends, including Balzac, watching everyone enter their names and some underage students fail to enter. Results were funny. Especially those who tried to fool the age line by using aging potions.

Snape is a devious man. I can tell his touch on age line. Albus wouldn't go that far. And his sudden enthusiasm regarding Aging Potion makes sense now.

Ten people needed help to get to the infirmary because they were suddenly too old to go by themselves. As in old enough to lose control of their bladder. As in old enough to be Albus' father.

We made a bet on who will be chosen to represent Hogwarts. Unfortunately, no matter who gets to be the lucky one, I don't think they will win. Well, Cedric may pull a surprise but against the likes of Fleur, Krum, and Balzac, though I doubt it.

Sadly, I think the best students of Hogwarts are all between third-year and sixth-year, which means they can't compete. I bet Hermione could give everyone a run for their money even though she's a fourth-year.

The feast is over and the champion selection will begin soon. The excitement in the air is palpable.

I am not excited though. I feel like I'm forgetting something important. It's a troubling feeling.

I turn to Hermione and ask, "Did I forget to do something? I feel like I should be nervous but I don't know why I should be nervous."

She thinks about it for a second before her eyes widen. "You remembered to talk to Professor Dumbledore about your suspicions, right?"

Shit. "No but Snape did. I mean, it should be okay, right?" I ask, unsure. Then my eyes widen to match hers. "It's Halloween."

"What's wrong with Halloween?" Yeah, Balzac is new to this school.

"Halloween is cursed in this school. Or it's cursed for our group, I don't know but every Halloween something goes wrong," I explain to him. "Oh, shit." I slam my head on the table.

"What now?" Balzac chuckles.

"My name _will_ come out of the goblet. I know it. I know it." I turn to Hermione. "Why, Hermione? Why must some shit always happen on all hallows' eve? Is it me that's cursed or is it the day?"

Balzac is far too calm, and it irritates me. "Calm down, James. You are being ridiculous."

"No, he really is not. The first year, it was the troll. The second year, it was the basilisk. The third year, it was the rat," Hermione informs him before turning to me. "But Balzac's right. Nothing is set in stone."

"Here we go." I nod towards where Headmaster is making his way in front of the head table. Shit is about to go down.

"Now is the time we all have been waiting for. The goblet is about the decide. When the champions' names are called, they will come up here and go into the next chamber," he waves a hand to the anteroom he led me to yesterday with a flourish, "where they will receive their instructions."

Everyone waits with bated breaths as Dumbledore dims the candles and the fire on the goblet burns brighter before turning red. A piece of parchment flies out and Dumbledore catches it, showing his age is not an indicator of his health.

"Durmstrang's champion is…" he pauses a couple seconds for drama, "Viktor Krum."

Everyone clapped, including me. He was the obvious choice though. He's an athletic guy that packs a punch and frankly, I think it's possible Karkaroff made sure only his name was put in the goblet.

The fire turns red once more and everyone stops clapping at once. Another parchment flies off. "The champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour."

This time, clapping is a little more sedate and I can see couple girls in blue crying. I give Balzac a sympathetic slap on the shoulder. He just shrugs. That dude doesn't care about nothing.

"Hogwarts' champion is Cedric Diggory!"

It's a sad fact that Cedric truly is the best of seventh-years. If my year mates were seventeen, he wouldn't even be in the top five. Hermione, Padma, Su Li, Susan… I don't want to say it but I will… Draco.

Cedric gets the loudest celebration. He has the home advantage.

My nervousness increases. This is going to suck.

Balzac turns to me with a smug expression. "See, I told you. You were being ridiculous."

"Wait for it," I drawl with my cheek on the table.

I raise my head to watch as Dumbledore continues when Cedric enters the antechamber. "We have our champions. Over the next eight months, we will have five challenges and a duelling tournament to determine who is the most talented among them. But before we end the-"

The goblet turns red again. "There it is," I groan and slam my head on the table. "Fuck!"

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore whispers but it's heard by everyone in the silence.

It takes me a few seconds to process the words. "Oh, fuck me."

This is bad. This is so bad. Not only I have to compete, everyone will find out my real identity now. Okay, so that's not the end of the world but the fact that my name came out of the goblet is a sure sign that this year is going to suck.

The murmurs start around the hall as everyone 'knows' Harry Potter is in hiding and being tutored by secret teachers and well… You know how those stories go. He lives in the castle, he fights monsters, he has the best teachers… Wait... I stand corrected.

I touch my necklace to finish the Concealment Charm that hides my scar and rise from my seat. "I hate Halloween," I whisper to him harshly as I pass him by, taking the parchment with my REAL name on it. Behind me, murmurs double in loudness.

 **-HP-**

"What is it, James? Do they want us back in the hall?" Cedric questions me as soon as I walk in.

"Nope. My name just came out of the fucking goblet."

"What do you mean? That's ridiculous."

Jesus. This is the guy who's supposed to be the best Hogwarts has to offer. Fucking fuck! Fuck!

"Tell me about it," I intone, pointing at my scar.

"What happened to your... That's... You are..."

"What's going on?" Fleur asks suspiciously. I guess she didn't hear me the first time.

Before I answer, I hear footsteps and turn towards the door. A portly man enters. "Extraordinary. Gentlemen and lady, let me introduce the fourth champion of the Triwizard tournament. Harry Potter," he announces excitedly.

I'm so not in the mood for this shit. "I don't know who the hell you are but no, it's not extraordinary. Whoever the fuck entered me into this tournament used my real name." I walk towards him and talk in a soft, dangerous voice, "no, Mr fat guy, it's not extraordinary. It's not a happy occasion. Now, I think it's best if you shut up and let people with more than five brain cells do the talking."

As he gapes there like a particularly stupid fish, Dumbledore comes in with two other school heads, Professors McGonagall, and Snape. "Harry, I believe I know the answer already but I must ask. Did you put your name into the goblet?"

"No. Nor do I want to be in this tournament. You know that already, Professor."

"The boy lies," Karkaroff states poisonously.

"No, he doesn't," Snape disagrees with a headshake just before McGonagall.

She turns to him in shock. "What?" I can see everyone thinks McGonagall thinks I did it. They don't get how weird it must be for her to hear Snape support me.

"Albus, is there any way you can get me out of this? I really don't need this on my plate right now."

"The boy is clearly afraid. We can't let him compete in something this dangerous. He's just a child," Madame Maxime bawls sympathetically.

Now, I know she means well. At least I think she does, but I am stressed as hell. First the nightmare, then the riot, then Firenze's cryptic warning, and now this. Give me a break.

"Scared? Do you not get the implications of what happened ten minutes ago? Someone put the name 'Harry Potter' in the Goblet of Fire. To do that, they not only had to get past the age line Albus Dumbledore himself drew and charm the goblet to next year and back, but they needed a parchment with my name on it that the magic of Goblet of Fire would accept as my consent. The problem is, I have never written my real name in my life. _Ever_. Not even to try it out. Do you see where I am going with this? Tell me, what would be magically binding as if I signed my name?" O ask with a raised eyebrow but she's too shocked by my outburst to answer.

"No? Official documents where my parents signed my name as was their right as my guardians. There we have another problem. There are only three documents where my name was written by my parents. The first one is their will and Gringotts sure as hell didn't give that away. For one, I am one of their biggest client in Britain. Second, goblins consider me an ally which means unless someone paid them more than the Ministry's yearly budget, there is no way in hell they would betray me. The second document is here, in Hogwarts, signing me up for the school's roster. I won't insult you by telling you why trying to steal that is a stupid idea. Whoever did this wouldn't dare attract Albus' suspicions before my name came out of the goblet. The third is in the ministry, my birth certificate. Someone not only broke into the ministry to steal that document, they are also here, in Hogwarts, hiding in plain sight."

I glare at the half-giantess. "Scared, you said? Tell me, I know all that, I know how much trouble someone went to get me out in the open, yet, do I look scared to you? No, I can assure you I am not scared. When you kill a seventy feet basilisk, you stop feeling scared. This is merely an annoyance."

I turn to Dumbledore while everyone is shocked to silence by my rant. "Now, Headmaster, is there a way out of this?"

Dumbledore turns to another man he introduced before dinner but I don't remember his name...

"Barty?"

Wait, I remember. It was Barty... something. Meh. I don't give a crap.

"The boy must compete. The rules are clear. Everyone whose name came out of the goblet must compete," he answers the unasked question.

"I don't care about your rules, Mr... whatever. What will happen if I don't compete?"

He's taken aback for a moment like he's surprised anyone would not care about the rules but he answers anyway. "I am unsure. If you had entered your own name and decided not to compete, that would constitute a breach of contract and the results would be most severe, possibly even death. But you claim you didn't. I am not sure whether there is a contract."

"If you don't know how it works, why would you use the goblet of fire?" I ask in surprise.

"It's tradition-"

"Don't finish that sentence, please."

"If the boy is going to compete, I insist we relit the goblet and choose one more student each," Karkaroff complains.

It's the fat man that speaks next. "But it doesn't work like that, Karkaroff. Goblet won't ignite until the next tournament."

"You don't need the goblet to add two more champions," I cut in before Karkaroff can go off again. "You and Madame Maxime know your own students. You came here knowing which of your students the goblet would choose. Just choose two more. You don't need an ancient artifact to tell you who your second best students are. Rules state goblet must select champions. Not that champions must be selected by the goblet. If one of the additional competitors win, you can officially call it a draw on a technicality."

"The boy is right," Maxime agrees.

Again with the boy. Though, I am a boy so... whatever.

"But tradition dictates Goblet of Fire to choose the champions," Bagman complains.

"Tradition also dictates only three champions can compete, Ludo," Snape sneers at the foolish man.

"It's settled then. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will have one more champion each," Dumbledore cuts off any more derailing. "We should return to the great hall and make an announcement." He looks at me for a second and must have seen how much I need it. "Harry, you can go to your room. Come to my office early in the morning."

"Will do. Thank you, sir."

I walk out of the antechamber and the great hall falls silent. I can feel everyone's eyes at me but I have too much on my mind to care. I walk between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables and walk out of the great hall after warning off my friends with a headshake.

As soon as I'm out of sight, I run. I need to think but right now, I have no focus. I have to clear my head. I enter the common room and make my way to the top room, my room.

Heads of houses used to stay in this room in the past when there were thrice more students than there is now and twice the teachers.

I convinced Albus to assign it to me in my second year. It's my temple away from home. Similarly built, only smaller.

I sit down on the piano bench and play. Puck jumps on the piano and prowls across it. He does that when I'm upset or stressed out.

When I finally stop playing, it's three hours later. I made the connections. It may sound shocking but I think Voldemort is behind this. Or his servant in Hogwarts, to be precise.

The question is, who is his inside man? It's not Snape. He wouldn't trust Karkaroff to light a candle, let alone with something this big after the man's betrayal. He has someone else but how is that someone here? It can't be a student. He can't risk a screw up. It has to be an adult. That leaves school staff, ministry officials and the foreigners.

Of the teachers and staff, Albus, Minerva, Flitwick, Sprout, Moody, Snape, Hagrid, Trelawney, Filch, Sinistra, Binns, Vector, Babbling, Karkaroff and Maxime are out. The other schools brought two staff members each. There are fifteen government officials from three countries in Hogwarts at the moment. Out of fifteen, five arrived just before dinner so they are out. That is a list of fourteen names with unknown motives.

Doesn't matter who the servant is. At least, not for now.

Why go to all this trouble? To find me and to make sure I will be at a certain place at a certain time. The end game is to abduct me, that much is obvious from the dream/vision. Abduct me to what end, I don't know.

The tournament consists of four challenges- or trials-, a duelling tournament and the final maze or something along those lines. Duelling tournament is out. He can't get close enough to abduct me unless he has a champion in his pocket which is highly unlikely.

That leaves four trials and the maze. The trials are based on the four states of matter.

Water is out. While trying to catch me in the lake where my mobility would be low makes sense, he would need numbers on his side and subduing me would be harder.

Air is out. It'd be damn near impossible to catch someone in the air, let alone me.

I doubt it will be the Fire challenge. It is next month. He can't enact a solid plan that fast. Whatever is the overall plan, Voldemort would want to lull us into a false sense of security.

That leaves only two options. Either the earth trial or the maze.

Earth challenge will probably take place in the forbidden forest. It's a good location if you want to kidnap someone, hypothetically. If that's his plan, he's in for a big shock. Even if they wouldn't say it, the centaurs like me. Firenze and Bane, at least, would come to my aid and I know Firenze's curious nature would ensure he'll be there watching.

Considering he saved me from Voldemort once, I feel safe under his protection.

Maze. Maze is a problem. It is the most chaotic part of the tournament with zero chance of outside help. There will be too many variables for me to control the situation. But, if he has a man inside, he may be able to control the outcome. There would be no help to come if he manages that.

At least that narrows down the options. The question is, should I go along with it and try to stop him or should I take the safe choice and go through the tournament without giving him a way to kidnap me? That is if I have an option.

Fourteen possible suspects, two possible times and two possible routes for me to take.

God, I hate Halloween.

 **-HP-**

 **November 1, 1994**

I walk to the headmaster's office first thing in the morning. We have a lot to discuss. I knock on his door and enter without waiting for an answer. Professors McGonagall and Snape are already in the room with Dumbledore. Not surprising.

"Good morning, Professors."

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore sounds very concerned. I don't blame him. Normally, I'd be going crazy right about now. I think I am getting a handle on my problems.

"Focused."

"Good. Sirius and Remus will be here in a minute. Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice, sir. Thank you."

My seat is conjured for me across the two Professors and as I sit, a tray with four cups of tea materialises. It's a nice trick. Someone who doesn't know the headmaster would think he performed a magnificent magical feat, wandlessly. Truth is far simpler; house-elves.

It took me three years to realise that. I guess it's easy to forget and dismiss the capabilities of the diminutive creatures.

We sip our teas in silent contemplation until the fireplace flares up and in walks Sirius and Remus. Sirius engulfs me in a hug immediately.

"What happened?" he asks after letting me go.

Dumbledore turns to me with a twinkle in his eye. "Harry, would you like to do the honours?"

Sirius tenses at the use of my real name and throws a nervous glance at Snape. "Sure. And cut it out, Sirius. Snape already knows. I told him a week ago."

He's surprised but lets it go for now. "Voldemort wants to kidnap me, as in Harry Potter. He needed way to identify me, or verify my identity because I think it was obvious after the fiasco at the end of my first year. He used the goblet to do that. He bet Albus would have to bring me out of hiding. He will try to kidnap me during a task. Either the earth challenge or the final maze."

I scratch my forehead and close my eyes, picturing the smug smile on my parents' murderer's face. "He needed to use a document that would pass as my parents' consent, which worked because I'm still a minor. So he stole my birth certificate from the ministry. He has Wormtail with him and one sleeper agent in the Hogwarts."

Sirius turns to Snape right away. Typical. "No. It's not Snape. Voldemort wouldn't trust Snape with something this big even if he could ensure the man's loyalty. It's not Karkaroff, either. He might suspect Snape's loyalties but he'd never trust Karkaroff after he sold out in such a spectacular fashion. No, this is someone we don't know or someone we wouldn't suspect."

He and Remus take a few seconds to process the information. I look up to McGonagall and Snape and can see they are surprised. Why do people underestimate me?

"What are we going to do?" Sirius asks Dumbledore. The old man just shrugs and points to me. It feels good knowing he trusts me.

"We are going to let it play out for now and increase my training with you guys to three to four times a week. I am exempt from classes so will not be going this year. Most of the classes are redundant and I already learn nothing in Potions or Herbology. No offense." I nod to Snape and he shrugs, uncaring. "I might continue Arithmancy and Ancient Runes but I'm not sure yet. In the meantime, I will visit Professor Snape every few weeks so he can test my progress on Occlumency."

"Why me? Why not Headmaster?" Snape asks, a hint of desperation in his silky voice.

"Because Headmaster can't help me while the tournament is going on. It's against the rules and I won't have people claim I cheated when I win the tournament," I explain with a sharp smile.

"They would still think you are cheating."

"Don't make me laugh. Do you expect me to believe people would assume _you_ would ever help me cheat?" I laugh. "Besides, no one will know. Everyone will think I am serving detention. I trust I can earn a few detentions from you easily, Professor. Wouldn't you say?"

He does as expected and glares at me while Dumbledore gives me an amused smile, knowing I'll use the excuse as a permission to continue my war on Snape.

"In the meantime, we have people to investigate and a plan to make. There are fourteen possible suspects. We need to figure out who. If not to derail his plan to kidnap me, then to make sure other students are safe. And we need to decide on a game plan. What do we do at the end of the eleventh hour? Do I go along with his plan and stop him or do we derail his plan and make sure I'm safe and out of harm's way? Can we devise a way for you to track me in case I am kidnapped or will I be on my own? Do we bring Madame Bones into the fold or do we play this close to our chests?"

I turn to the headmaster. "Did I forget to mention anything?"

"No, my boy. I think that about covers it." He smiles at me indulgently. "We should give this some further thought before deciding anything."

"Good," I say with a nod and slump on my chair.

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 2: Distant Bells**

 **November 7, 1994**

I can't stop thinking. No, that's not a good thing.

One reason for that is I am Harry Potter. Yeah, I know. Why would my name be a problem?

Well, because people have opinions. And when people have opinions, they feel entitled to share their opinions and they feel like their opinions are all that matters. I fucking hate people and opinions. Especially stupid people. They shouldn't have opinions at all.

Okay, let's see. Where to begin? Let's start with reactions of those closest to me and work our way from there.

Hermione, my sister in all but blood. She's upset. No, not because I lied or anything. She's upset because she's the smartest person in this school yet, she couldn't figure out my secret. It's a big hit to her ego, apparently. No, I'm not being judgemental. She said so.

Ron, my brother in all but blood. Now, to understand his reaction better and why it is important, I should give you a background. Ron is prone to jealousy and laziness. He wants to be famous and rich but he doesn't want to work for it. I am already rich. And now I'm famous. And I'm in this tournament he repeatedly said he wished he could be a part of. That's why I'm surprised all of his reaction can be summarised in one non-word: 'meh'.

Neville's reaction wasn't very different from Ron. The only difference is he is more confident of himself. Apparently, being friends with the 'boy-who-lived' is a good thing for confidence.

Balzac… That idiotic giant is so very proud. According to him, me being Harry Potter shows how good he is at picking friends. There is a logic there somewhere. I'll leave it to you to figure it out.

Katie. Oh, boy. I love that girl. I truly do. She said she knew who I was the moment I kissed her. It was obviously a joke, but it was a joke made in the right moment.

Ginny was more than a little surprised. Who knew she had a huge crush on Harry Potter? Well, everyone knew but still… The fact that she had a crush on James Black as well… You get the point.

She now has a double-crush on me. Let's hope she doesn't go Bellatrix on me.

The twins. Well, apparently Ron isn't the one whose jealous reaction I should have been afraid of. Those two freckled fuckers are in the 'opinion' that I stole their thunder by somehow being in this tournament. It hurts their ego that I managed to 'enter' this tournament without even trying when they went through an afternoon as old men and yet failed all the same.

Most of the upper years of Gryffindor agree with them. They are of the opinion that I am a coward who cheated his way into the tournament. Coward because I hid who I am, and that wasn't Gryffindor-ish thing to do. House of the brave, ya'll.

Lower years are just too awed in my presence and it's fucking annoying. I would have knocked Colin's teeth out if I didn't like the boy.

I reserve the right to revisit that option.

Hufflepuffs are divided on the subject too. A group led by Cedric and Susan believe I didn't enter this tournament and that Hufflepuffs should support me alongside of Cedric because I am a Hogwarts champion too. The rest of them believe I am trying to steal their rare moment of glory or whatever. If I cared enough, I'd point out the countless alumni who achieved greatness.

Ravenclaws don't give a fuck who I am or what I am doing as long as I do it away from them. It's a nice feeling, not being cared about. Especially because the public attention I'm getting lately is driving me nuts.

Slytherins are my rock. They hated me before; they hate me now. This is just another excuse for them to hate me still and call me names. It's good to be on familiar grounds with them.

Teachers. Well, Albus, Minerva and Snape already knew so there is nothing new there. Flitwick is the same old cheerful guy he is. Sprout is unsure what her reaction should be. She likes me even though I suck at her class, yet she doesn't know how to support me and Cedric at the same time.

Hagrid went nuts. Ain't that the truth. I am not surprised though. He's one of those rare people to have held me as an adorable baby and we were friends throughout my first three year so he's just glad to know first-hand Harry Potter is doing fine.

Vector, Babbling and Sinistra don't know me well enough to have a real reaction to my new name.

Daily Prophet went nuts. Harry Potter's name coming out of the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter being the prodigy of Dumbledore is apparently a big deal.

Harry Potter made it to number seven in the 'most eligible bachelors list' of Teen Witch Weekly this week. They suggested to the ladies to hurry up and grab my attention because I may make it to the number one spot soon.

Then there is the reaction from general public outside of Hogwarts. Owls are flying at me left and right and without an end. Albus dedicated a whole room for the letters and gifts I receive and a dozen house-elves to sort them through. I do not know what I'm going to do with them but I'll figure something out. One good thing is Dobby is the happiest I've ever seen him.

You know what's the worst part of all this is though? That I can't take a shit without someone watching me and judging the shit. People are always looking at me, always judging me, always talking about me and sharing their opinions. It's driving me nuts. The castle of Hogwarts- yes, that huge castle- is feeling claustrophobic.

And yes, all of that was just one reason I can't stop thinking, and it's not even the most important.

The second, and frankly, the biggest, of my problems is that Voldemort is after me. Yes, I know I acted all calm and collected in my meeting with Dumbledore the day after Halloween but still… This is the man who killed my parents we are talking about. The man whose name people can't utter even though they believe he's dead. This is the man responsible for the deaths of over a thousand of people. The man rumoured to be afraid only of Dumbledore. The man I killed not once, not twice but three times already. If you count his shade from the diary and his perch at the back of Quirrell's head.

He wants to kidnap me and forgive me if it will take me a while to adjust to that fact.

Third reason I can't stop thinking is… Fleur. It's been a week since she arrived to the castle. In that week, she uttered two sentences. 'Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?' and 'Thank you'.

I get why we aren't best friends but a little nod when she passes me by on the corridor, a simple 'hello'? No. Apparently, I don't exist and that thought is too depressing. We slept together for Merlin's sake. More importantly, we played together and maybe I'm being cheesy but that was magical. How can she act like I don't exist?

I sent her the drawing I made after she left. It was of her playing the Heroes by David Bowie with the violin wearing nothing but one of my shirts and her knickers. Still no reaction.

So, yes. I spent a lot of time drawing and playing piano and flying this week. I had to. There was no other option. Yet, I still couldn't silence the voices and the thoughts running through my head.

Yet, I still haven't snapped. It's coming though. I can feel it. And this time I snap, it will be big. I just hope I survive it with my mind intact.

 **-HP-**

 **November 8, 1994**

This is a restless night. Actually, more like this has been a restless week. I have too much in my mind so; I choose spend my evening in a secluded part of the lake shore with only butterbeers as my company.

I sit with my back to a tree and open a bottle. Taking a sip, I let my mind wander free. It's a chilly, clear night. Stars are exceptionally bright and I can't help but wonder what celestial body Firenze would speak of.

Maybe the Uranus is too dim today. Could be. I wouldn't know.

By the way, Uranus, haha haha. Anyway.

Hogwarts feels too small lately. People look at me like I might perform a miracle or I might reveal a new surprise any second and if they look away, they might miss it.

I don't like it.

I can't help think maybe this is how Fleur must feel. I found out the reason everyone- at least every male- always eye her like she's a well-done steak. She's a Veela. It must be... difficult; being the centre of attention all the time. I understand her aloofness a little bit more now. And the sadness.

I respect her a little bit more now.

I can't help wonder if that's what attracted me to her that night in the club. I'm not sure how I feel about that idea. I think I would be disappointed with myself it that's the case. It would mean the magic of the night was artificial.

I can feel my fingers itching to draw so I take out my notepad and pencil.

Yes, notepad and pencil. Have you ever tried sketch or draw with a parchment and quill? Don't. The results are not very nice.

I let my hand do its own thing and Fleur's face appears on the page. She occupies much of my thoughts lately.

She's standing tall and proud yet there is a sadness to her eyes. I continue my drawing by adding a faceless crowd around her.

I hear a twig but don't look up. It's probably Hermione. Even if it's not, I am too focused on my drawing to care.

The person comes closer and I smell flowers. I raise my head and turn to the person. It's Fleur. I am surprised but I don't show. "Hi, Fleur," I greet her.

"Hello, James. Or is it Harry now?" she greets back coolly.

I return my attention to the faceless crowds I am intimately familiar with by now. "Whichever you prefer. I'm not too hung up on names."

She snorts.

"Did you like the picture I sent you?" I ask her softly.

"Why did you send it to me?" she questions me.

"It felt too personal. I felt like I was intruding on a private moment even though I was there," I answer simply.

"Yeah, I can see how that would be the case when the drawing is of me almost naked."

"You know _that_ wasn't the point of the painting. I didn't draw it to give me a masturbation material."

"Why did you draw it then? If it felt too personal to keep."

I think about how to put it into words. "Because it was a beautiful moment that begged to be captured. I had to get it out of my head or I wouldn't function."

She snorts, again. That isn't a sound I want to hear from her. At least not when it means she's thinking so little of me. "So you think I am beautiful, do you?"

I smile up at her. Her eyes look beautiful under the moonlight. "Who doesn't?" I remind her. "I'm not talking about beauty in an aesthetic sense. I am talking about... I don't know. There were a lot of emotions in the air. There was loneliness, frustration, anger, pleading… Hope. You really play the violin beautifully."

The coldness in her eyes lessens. "What are you drawing now?"

I can feel my cheeks warm up a little. "You." Yeah, now I feel like a stalker.

"May I see?" She sits next to me and I allow her to take the notepad from my numb fingers. "You are really talented."

I give her a crooked smile. "I told you I was awesome," I remind her. She smiles.

Damn.

"Tell me something, Fleur. Why have you been acting like I don't exist?"

"What do you mean?"

I cock my head to the side. "Don't do that. You know what I mean. You pass me by in the corridors yet you don't even look at me, let alone speak to me. I don't expect us to be friends or anything but you are pointedly ignoring my existence altogether."

"After all that stuff you said after the selection? What did you expect? You yelled at my headmistress and told us this crazy plot to for what? To kill you somehow?

"Something along the lines, yes," I interrupt. "But do go on."

She huffs in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that someone went to all this trouble to hurt you?"

"What is your theory then?"

"Do you want me to be honest with you?" she asks, but the underlining meaning is clear; do I truly want to hear her utter the coming hurtful words?

I roll my eyes at her. Yes, I know I do that a lot but I am a teenager. "Yes. Don't worry. I won't cry."

"I think either you or your headmaster put your name in to get public attention."

"Did you know Albus fought tooth to nail to establish the rule about no one underage being allowed into the tournament? Or did you know the three school heads have a bet going on about whose star student is the best. That's why Albus asked me to perform that little trick when you arrived."

"Yes, that was cute. Tell me, how much of it was really you and how much of it was your teachers' help?" she coos.

"That was all me, baby. I wasn't going to compete so Albus wanted his prodigy to impress the other school heads. _I_ designed, prepared and performed every detail of that cute little performance."

"Not a bad performance," she concedes, meeting me in the middle ground though I can see respect in her sky-blue eyes, giving me the warmest feelings.

"Yeah, enchanting that staff was a bitch. I'm not as good with enchantments as I am with transfiguration and charms," I inform her honestly.

"I tried making a staff once. It was a bitch to wave all the necessary enchantment together with the cores," She agrees. "If you aren't good at enchanting things, why did you use a staff? You could have accomplished the same results with your wand," she asks earnestly.

"Aesthetics," I answer simply. "It wouldn't look as dramatic with a wand. Can you imagine how much wand movement it would've taken? I would look ridiculous."

"Like you looked when you were dancing at the club?" she asks, the teasing tilt of her voice and the small grin on her lips making invisible creatures dance in my stomach.

I look at her horrified. "You saw that?"

She laughs. Now that's better even if she's laughing at me. "Yeah, I thought it was funny."

"Then why did you agree to dance with me?"

She thinks about it for a second. "You weren't a mindless idiot trying to impress me."

I shrug. "Honestly, I was trying to impress you."

"But you weren't going about it mindlessly. It was refreshing talking to a guy who can keep his wits around me."

"Point. Anyway, we were talking about what was going on. Tell me something; why do you believe I want attention? What about me that makes you think so?"

She concedes. "Nothing. Actually, you look like you hate the attention now that you have it."

"Oh, it's not the first time I'm in the limelight. I'm no stranger to the pointing and the whispers."

"What do you mean?"

"In my second year, there were a bunch of attacks on students. People were getting petrified left and right. That I am a parselmouth came out and suddenly, I am this dark lord in training that wants to eliminate the Muggleborn population of the school. My last name was the only confirmation people needed. Nevermind one of my best friends is a Muggleborn. Or I am a half-blood. I was the bad guy. Everyone 'believed' so. You know what happened in the end?"

She looks at me sadly. "What happened?"

I shrug. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't the one behind the attack. That's when I realised I hate opinions. Opinions blind people. I like facts and theories. Facts are unchanging and theories can be adjusted. They can be changed. But once people believe something, they act on that belief. It doesn't matter if they are crucifying the wrong person. They 'believed' I was the right person, so it was okay for them to curse me in hallways. I have no need for public attention. They are sheep. They will believe what they are told. Most of them doesn't even have the ability to form individual opinions. They breathe collectively and they believe collectively. So, no. I didn't enter myself into this tournament. No, no one who knew my real identity entered me into this tournament. Yes, someone entered my real name in this tournament with malicious intent."

She takes a moment to take it all in and my passion surprises her. "I believe you."

I smile, a broken thing with relief shining in it. "I would give you shit for your usage of the word 'belief' but because it's you, I'll allow it."

She smiles cutely. "What's so special about me?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. You know, I thought you were a muggle when we first met."

"I thought the same about you."

"I found out this past week that you are a Veela. Now, I can't stop thinking whether I came onto you because of your pull or not."

She gives me a puzzled look. "What difference does it make? It worked out for you, didn't it?"

"It makes all the difference. That night was beautiful on many levels. If my initial attraction was because of your charm, never mind the rest of the night, it means the night was… less pure. It would make it artificial. It would make that painting I gave you a fantasy at best and a lie at worst."

Her smiles returns much more brightly. "I was wearing a special bracelet that night that stopped my Veela charm. Everything you did was pure you."

"That's good to hear." It clicks suddenly. "If you can wear a bracelet that allows you freedom, why don't you wear it all the time?"

The shift is sudden, and the difference is like a day and night. Her sweet smile disappears completely, the anger that takes its place is as beautiful as it's dangerous. The look she gives me… If she attempts to curse me, I'd die without moving a muscle. And when she speaks, her voice is devoid of life, otherworldly. "So you expect me to hide who I truly am? My heritage?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, the way you spoke that night sounded like you don't like that men treat you like just a pretty face. It would make sense if you prefer to keep wearing it. It would also help you avoid the attention you so clearly despise."

She looks troubled a or another but doesn't share it. Not entirely. "It doesn't work like that. Those bracelets don't last long, twelve hours at most, and they are expensive."

"I don't think that's the whole reason but I don't think digging any deeper would be good for my health."

"No, it wouldn't."

We sit there in silence for some time, just looking over the lake and enjoying the crisp night.

"I'm sorry for what I said before you left," I blurt out into the silence.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for what I said just before you left."

"It doesn't matter."

Dammit. Again, I am hopelessly lost. She looks so beautiful with the way moon is shining in her eyes and the way she smiles. I am going to do it. There is no escape. I look at her in the eyes and take a deep breath. I can tell she knows something is coming. "Can I take you to Hogsmeade next weekend? I know it's silly but there is not a lot to do around here for a date."

"Sorry, you are too young for my taste." She smiles at me sadly.

My smile is bittersweet. "That's okay. I think I will ask you one last time before the Yule Ball. If you say no again, I will not bother you again."

"My answer won't change between now and then," she warns me, but her smile tells me she enjoys my interest.

"I will still ask."

I get up slowly. I tear out the sketch I was drawing and hold it out for her to take. "Good night, Fleur. It was nice talking to you. And sorry but I think I will draw you a lot for now."

"As long as you let me see the results, I think I'm okay with that." She smiles. "And no more drawing me half naked!"

"Don't worry. I have the memories if I ever need a fantasy to help me relax."

She laughs. I love it when she does that. "Oh, that's just wrong."

"I am a teenage boy. You are a beautiful girl with the body of a goddess. There is no fighting it."

"Good night, James."

"Good night, Fleur."

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 3: I Love You, Rita Skeeter!**

 **November 9, 1994**

"I think it's time to answer some questions, Potter."

Everyone in the common room silences upon the random twin's words and I can see the eagerness, the hunger in everyone's eyes.

"I'll pass, thank you."

"No, you won't," says the other twin, a smug smirk on his face.

"So we applied sticking paste- our own invention- to your favourite chair."

"You are not getting up from there unless we allow you to. Now, be a good little boy and answer a few questions," one of the redhead menaces grin at me in a manner that resembles one of Draco's.

"Is this what you do in your free time? Create products to use for your pathetic attempts at a humiliation?" I smile at them condescendingly and wave my hand in a go ahead motion when they shrug instead of answering.

"Why did you lie to everyone about your identity?" is their first question.

"But I didn't. I am Harry James. Sirius Black adopted me. Therefore: James Black." I answer as if talking to a child.

"That's bollocks. Tell us why," orders the other one.

"Nope. Next question."

"You won't get out of that chair unless you answer all of our questions," the... hell I'm not sure which is which and I don't care. I'm going to call them both Peter from now on.

"Are you sure about that?" I stand up calmly. I might have left my pants behind but whatever, I'm not body shy. "You see, kids, you reckon yourselves smart but you really aren't. You are nothing but a pair of morons with too high of an opinion of themselves." I shake my head and sigh. "Anyway. Ask your next question, please. I'm enjoying this."

For a second they are both shocked but they do so. "How did you hide your scar?" asks Peter.

"Have you met Dumbledore? The guy is a genius. He took what? Half an hour to come up with necessary charms and rune work."

"Who else knew your real name?"

"Only a handful of people."

"Why lie about who you are? Why go all this trouble?" someone from the crowd asks.

"Next question."

"Answer the question, Potter," spits one of the Peters. When I say spit, I don't mean figuratively.

I clean the spit of my cheek. "You want answers?" My voice is deceptively calm and soft.

"Yes..." The Peters are offbeat now, unsure what's going on.

"You don't have to answer, James," Katie interrupts, glaring at the twins.

"You want the truth?" I ask, cackling like a maniac inside. I can see no one understands yet but I bet a few of the older students will soon.

"Yes, we deserve it!" the Peter snarls.

"You can't handle the truth," I yell and half a dozen people laughs, including Hermione though hers is a snicker. Good to know some people still have good taste. I take a deep breath after laughing a little, enjoying the glares the twins shoot at me. "You really want to know? Well, tough shit. I am not telling."

"Answer the question, Potter, or else."

I shrug.

"How did you put your name in the cup?"

"I didn't," I intone.

"Oh, come on. You are lying."

"I don't care what you believe. I don't care what you think. You are not important enough for me to worry about your little opinions and what you think you are entitled to." I look around at the common room, at the faces, some angry, some ashamed. "I've known most of you for three years and you show your true colours now. I see what? Six? Seven people whose opinions I give a crap about. Rest of you can believe I am a cross-dressing clown from Mars who came to Earth to destroy it for all I care."

I spin around and walk out of the common room, leaving them to their pondering. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't care about their opinions. They are sheep and they will believe what they will, what the prophet writes, what the 'higher powers' tell them to believe.

It was easy to see the true faces of everyone in there. Only a handful of them even twitched when the Peters revealed their little sticking prank. Rest of them were hungry for answers.

I don't do well with bullies.

 **-HP-**

 **November 13, 1994**

"James!" Colin yells at me from the other end of the corridor.

"What's up, Colin?"

"They want you for the Wand Weighing ceremony at classroom four on the charms corridor," he says in between breaths. He must have run all the way up here. Charms corridor is on the second floor. I am on the seventh.

"Okay. Thanks, Colin." He doesn't leave. He instead looks at me pleadingly. "What can I do for you?"

"Can I, please, ta- take a picture of you?" He is far too excited and nervous for my liking.

"No. I... You know what? Come with me. There is going to be a reporter from Daily Prophet and I bet they will want pictures. I will tell them you are the only person allowed to take my picture."

His eyes brighten with a mixture of excitement and hope. "You would do that for me?"

"Sure, why not? You are a talented kid with a camera." I shrug. "Only thing I ask in return is for you to never stick your camera in my face. Take all the pictures you want from afar."

"Sure thing, Harry. Thanks!"

We walk to the classroom in silence. I like this kid. He's good and likable, especially when he doesn't stick his camera in your face. He also was one of the rare people to believe me and is restrained with his worship since the big reveal.

We enter the classroom and find all the champions there, including the two who weren't chosen by the goblet; Aimee from Beauxbatons and Britt from Durmstrang. The fat guy from the antechamber is there as well as a blonde woman and a man with a camera.

"Harry, come in," the fat man-child exclaims. "Welcome to the wand weighing ceremony."

"It's such a pleasure to be here," I squeak exaggeratingly. "I always wanted my wand to be weighed. I'm guessing mine is five ounces. Ten at most." I enjoy the incomprehension on his face far too much. "She works out regularly, you see."

His eyes are still blank and I want to laugh. I can see the blonde woman sniggering. "And who is this lovely lady?" I turn to her.

"I'm Rita Skeeter, Mr Potter. I write for the Daily Prophet but I'm sure you know that."

"I know now. A pleasure. Come." I drag her to where Colin is standing nervously. "Let me introduce you to your future photographer; Colin Creevey. He's quite talented with his camera. In fact, as a rule, I only let him take my pictures."

She raises an eyebrow at me as if to say you don't get to choose.

"If you want my picture on the Daily Prophet, beautiful Rita, Colin will take it. You are going to pay him twelve sickles a day. Otherwise, there will be no picture of me in the paper and no interview."

She wants to object, to use her own photographer so I throw her another bone. "If you play nice, he may even send you a few pictures from the Yule ball."

She's sold. "Of course. It is important to cultivate young talents such as this young man."

I wave a finger at her warningly. "Don't forget, twelve sickles a day."

Before we can converse any further, Dumbledore enters the room with two other heads of school and an old man in tow. "Wonderful, everyone is here." He looks at me with twinkling eyes. "We shall begin then."

The old man, no, not Dumbledore, the other one, sits on a chair and turns to us. "Mr Krum, if you would." He holds out his hand. Krum gives him his wand though the tenseness on his shoulders shows how uncomfortable he is about it. "This is one of Gregorovitch's, I believe. Quite a capable wandmaker. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Yes? Ten inches. A little thicker than usual but to each, their own. Let's see; Avis." Twittering birds fly out of the wand with a blast and crash against the wall across the room, leaving tiny dents.

Damn, that's too loud.

I remember now, the man's name is Ollivander. Sirius mentioned him being the best wandmaker.

He continues on with the rest of the champions, leaving me to last. Fleur's wand has her grandmother's hair. Cool. Unicorn tail for Cedric. Rougarou hair for Britt and Occamy feather for Aimee.

I do not know what each means. It might make an interesting project, learning wandlore. A thought for another time, maybe.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I was disheartened when you didn't come for a wand. Let's see your wand." That's not exactly true. Albus bought a wand from him for me. A Holly with a feather from a phoenix; Fawkes to be exact. He didn't tell me why I should have the wand exactly. He just said it might come in handy sometime in the future, but that's just Dumbledore for you.

I give him the wand and can tell he's fascinated and surprised.

"The core... is... a Raiju whisker? What an odd choice for a wand core," he comments.

"Yeah, the wandmaker who made it was quite cross with me for insisting on using whiskers from my raiju."

He shakes his head pityingly though the interest is still there. "I can empathise. I have never heard of a wand made with Raiju whiskers. Beechwood. Thirteen inches? Supple. Let's see..." He conjures a beautiful bouquet. "Wonderful. I'd be quite interested in watching this wand in work, Mr. Potter."

"You should come to the challenges. You may not see its full potential but I think I can put on a little show."

"That, I shall. I would be interested in examining Raiju whiskers," he trails off leadingly.

What's it with old people and asking nothing directly? "I'll ask Puck what he thinks." He gives me a questioning look. "He's my familiar, a Raiju. He doesn't like other people much."

"Thank you all," Dumbledore says when Ollivander gives my wand back. "You may go back to your lessons now. Or maybe it'd be quicker if you go down to dinner."

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos," Bagman interrupts. "All the school heads and the champions, don't you think?"

"Yes, let's start with them. Then we can do individual shots," Rita says and gives her photographer a nod.

"Oh, Rita," I call sweetly. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I give her a far too innocent smile and point to Colin who's standing out of the way, fiddling with his trusted camera anxiously.

"Right." Rita nods. "Sorry, Bozo. I won't need your services this time."

Rita organizes us to her heart's content. We are not human at the moment; we are ornaments for her to arrange to her heart's content. It takes quite an effort to fit Madame Maxime to the frame but Colin makes do.

When the individual shots are over, Rita gets a hungry gleam in her eyes and turns to me. Oh, boy. "How about some interviews? Let's start with the youngest champion." She takes my arm in a firm grip and drags me to a broom closet in the far corner of the room.

I go along. She gave Colin a shot. This is the price.

We sit down on the stools she must've placed there earlier. Quite the schemer, this one.

"You won't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, Harry? Good. Let's talk. There is no need to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous, Rita. Go ahead and ask your questions."

She looks at me and gives a predatory smile. "My name is Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Now, Harry, why don't we start with your name? Tell me, what made you decide to hide who you really are? You are a hero. Why would you hide that?"

I think for a second before answering. "After the fall of Voldemort, a lot of death eaters were caught and prosecuted. Not all of them. Some of his most fanatical supporters walked free. Those were dangerous days. After the attack on Longbottoms, my godfather and Professor Dumbledore thought they may target me."

I follow the quill from the corner of my eye. That's funny. I don't remember saying 'I was afraid to die'. And I definitely don't look frightened. I don't.

"Now, what about your parents? What do you think they would think of you entering the tournament? Would they be proud? Would they think you are being irresponsible with the life they sacrificed their own for?"

I look at her incredulously. She's poisonous. I love it. "I didn't enter this tournament. However, I think they will be proud when I win."

Oh, that's rich. 'His startling green eyes glisten with the ghost of his parents.'

"Come now, Harry. You are already in the tournament. You won't get punished for telling the truth. Why did you enter?"

I turn my full gaze on her. "You know what? I am in awe of you. You are poisonous. You are dangerous. I like that. I'll make you a deal," I tell her and she looks at me puzzled. "Screw this interview. After dinner, I will meet you in the courtyard. You want an interview? I will give you a full-blown interview. I have only one condition."

Her expression is somewhere between predatory and excited. "What's your condition?"

Ah, yes, walk into my web, little bug.

"You will not turn this interview around me. You and I... We can have a great relationship where you get to interview me after every challenge and report in a manner that shows me in a good light. You be good to me, Rita dear, and you will get have access any reporter would give an arm for. Do we have a deal?"

She considers it for a moment but I know she's already sold. She could write a scandalous article or two about me or she could be my go-to reporter and if she has any idea about the sort of things I get up to, she'll make the right choice.

"You have yourself a deal, Harry." She holds out her hand for me to shake. I give it a kiss and caress it instead.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship. Be in the courtyard after dinner and come prepared. I have a lot of stories to tell."

 **-HP-**

"Harry! I thought for a second you were blowing me off," Rita greets me as I walk out of the castle, the amused disappointment on her face makes it clear she already wrote a scandalous piece in case I reneged our deal.

"Now, how could I blow off such a beautiful woman as yourself, my dear?"

"You talk awfully like Dumbledore does. What with 'my dear' and all that."

"Great thing about having Dumbledore as my mentor, I get to act all mysterious and condescending." I smile at her and try that eye twinkling thing with no success and what I know to be a lot of creepiness.

"So, the rumours are true. You are Dumbledore's prodigy?"

"You could say that." I nod. "I've known him all my life. He was there to help me when I first started doing conscious magic at age five. He was there to help me when I got my wand at age nine. All my life, he's been there, giving me advice, teaching me magic."

"You got your wand at age nine?" she asks, surprised. "How? It's illegal for children under the age of eleven to own wands."

"I'm not sure about the details. I showed quite a potential. I don't know if you know this but the reason children receive their wands at age eleven is that it's at eleven children are at their most adaptable. If you give a wand to a normal child before they are eleven, mishaps happen. I wasn't like that. Like I said, I was already showing a surprising level of control at age five. Levitation, summoning and the likes."

We are nearing the black lake now. I lead her to my spot.

"That's impossible," she announces unbelievingly. I love that response. I could ask how is that impossible if it happened but, meh.

"It was also impossible for anyone, let alone a baby, to survive the killing curse."

She takes a moment to gather her wits, her quill writing down a few sentences on a parchment. "Now, we covered the reason why you changed your name. How many people knew about your real identity?"

"Five. The headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."

"That's a small group of people. Wasn't it hard, pretending to be someone you weren't?"

"Who says I am not James Black? You people are too hung up on names. Just because I called myself James Black doesn't mean I wasn't me. Harry Potter is just a name. Names are meaningless. What matters is the people."

Her quill is going crazy above the notepad that is hanging in the air.

"Tell me about yourself. Who is Harry Potter, or James Black as it was? What do you like to do? What are your talents and your fears?" She's looking and acting oddly professional. Interesting.

"Well, I am an artist first and foremost. I enjoy playing music, painting, creating things. As Dumbledore puts it; I am a highly emotional person with a unique perspective and a brilliant mind. Art is a way for me to unload myself, share parts of myself. My talents? Well, like I said music and painting. I am extraordinarily talented at Transfiguration. I am great with Charms. I create my own spells. I am a smooth talker with good relationships with centaurs and goblins."

"My fears... I really don't know. I haven't come across anything that would, you know, give me crippling fear. If you asked me that last year, I would say dementors but since I learned how to cast a patronus, I don't fear them as much as I used to do back then."

"You can cast patronus?" It's getting a little tiring to hear the unbelieving tone by now.

"Yeah, would you like to see it?" I cast the charm when she nods and a silvery Puck emerges. "That's my Raiju. He's awesome."

She's speechless for a moment but recovers herself nicely. "How about school? What are your experiences in Hogwarts is like so far?"

I laugh a little. "Adventurous is a word that comes to mind. Since starting at Hogwarts. I killed what? A mountain troll, a Professor, a Basilisk, a shade from the past."

Her eyes bulge out. "What? A troll? A basilisk?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. At the Halloween feast during my first year, Professor Quirrell, the Defence professor, set loose a mountain troll in the dungeons. A good friend of mine, Hermione Granger, was in the bathroom, unaware. Ron, another friend of mine, and I went in search of her and found her in the bathroom, trapped by the troll. I managed to kill the beast, saving the damsel in distress with Ron's help."

"In my second year, there were a bunch of attacks and the rumoured chamber of Slytherin was opened. Hermione found out the beast responsible for petrifications was a basilisk before she was petrified herself. Ron, Neville Longbottom and I found the entrance to the chamber. Ron's little sister was taken to the chamber. Ron's wand at the time was substandard which resulted in a cave in that prevented the other two to come with me so I went ahead alone. There was a shade... a ghost... I don't know what to call it for sure but there was someone there that's supposedly dead. He commanded the basilisk to attack me. Fawkes showed up with the sorting hat and attacked the basilisk, blinding the monster. I, somehow, pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the hat and killed it. Then I used the sword to destroy the diary that was the shade's essence."

She's speechless and I enjoy the silence for.

"That sounds…"

"What? Unbelievable? Incredible? Far-fetched? I assure you, it's all true. Albus, Minerva, Snape, Sirius, Remus… They all know about it. There might be more people who know but I'm not sure. Feel free to check."

"Okay, we'll come back to that later. I need time to process all that before I can ask questions. What about the tournament? You said you didn't enter your name but why would anyone else?"

"That's the million galleon question, isn't it? Remember, the name that came out of the goblet was 'Harry Potter'. Not 'James Black'. Tell me, why would someone who told no one his real name use that same secret name to enter a competition?" I point out to her.

"That's a good question. You sound like you have a theory."

"I do. Someone went to a lot of trouble to bring 'Harry Potter' to light. Someone wanted me to come out of hiding. And whoever that someone is, I don't think they did it so they can watch me win."

"So you think you will win?" she prods me.

"I will win, Rita. Don't get me wrong. Misses Delacour, Aimee, Britt, and Messrs Krum and Diggory are very talented people. I am simply better. I am creative. I am powerful. And I have something they don't."

"What is that?"

"Real life experience. Like I said, I've been in dangerous situations before. Hell, how many students can go against a troll and live to tell the tale? How many people can even say they saw a basilisk, let alone slay it?"

"No one I know," she answers honestly. "Okay, I have a question. Where was Dumbledore during all this? Where was he when his student, his prodigy no less, was going against all these dangerous creatures?"

"Rita, I know you like to attack Dumbledore on your articles but this is not the way to go. While I was fighting the troll, he was looking for it. Remember, I didn't go looking for the troll. Everyone thought the troll was in the dungeons, not in a second-floor bathroom. When I was fighting basilisk, Dumbledore was already driven out of the castle by none other than Lucius Malfoy who was so ecstatic about suspending the most powerful wizard alive that he forced other governors to suspend him. It sounds illogical but hey, who am I to judge an ex-death eater?"

"The court cleared him."

"Yes but tell me, do you know how many trials were conducted during that time? Over two hundred. Is it too much to believe he and others with money like him slipped through the cracks? I mean we are talking about the man responsible for the opening of the chamber of secrets. Someone who threatened me, a student."

"If the rumours are correct, you threatened him back."

"Damn right, I did. Lucius Malfoy is a vermin with money. Nothing more. I don't fear him."

"He's a dangerous enemy to make, Harry," Rita warns.

"Oh, Rita, I didn't know you cared." I put my hand on my heart dramatically. "That's enough for today, don't you think?"

"That's more than enough. I could do with a little more detail on your exploits though."

"We can meet some other time and go over my adventures in detail," I answer and grin cockily. "After all, you are my go-to reporter now, aren't ya?"

"Indeed," she answers with a similar smile. "Thank you, Harry. I don't think this article will be ready for tomorrow's print. You should expect to see it the day after tomorrow."

"Good." I nod. "That will give the other champions a taste of the spotlight, even if for a day. Be sure to act kindly towards them as well. International cooperation and all that."

"I will try but there is not a lot of material there. One is a duelling champion and that's something. One is a Quidditch star which I can work with. But the Diggory boy and the second French girl, they are not much to talk about. The Veela, she's a right bitch, that one," she comments. "What do you think about your competition?"

"Okay, let's see. Krum is athletic and powerful. You can expect him to have a plan though. He's not just muscles. If he is as agile on the ground as he's in the air, he can use that to his advantage."

"Britt is a duelling champion, like you said. She's the most experienced champion after me but from what I've seen, she is a one-trick pony. She uses simple strategies, relying on her power instead."

"Aimee, I know little about her. She's smart. My sources tell me she's planning on becoming a potion mistress. Other than that, she's a wild card."

"Cedric, he's above average in terms of power. His winning side is his balance. He's good at everything; not great but good. You can expect him to perform steadily. He has no particular strength, yes, but he also doesn't have any particular weakness."

"Fleur. Well, she will be my main competition. Her Veela charm is not her only talent. She may even be better than me at charms. If I wasn't in this tournament, she would be the one to win."

"You've given it a lot of thought," she comments. And I did. I didn't stand idle after my name came out of the goblet. I researched the tournament and my competition. Cedric, I know firsthand. Balzac was a lot of help with the two French witches. Krum is a celebrity and Britt is popular as a rising star in duelling circles.

"It pays to know your competition." I stand up and hold my hand out for her. "This is it for the day. Unless you have other ideas about what we can do together?" I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

She laughs. "Not a paedophile, thank you very much. Goodnight, Harry."

"Shame. Good night, Rita."

 **-HP-**

 **November 15, 1994**

"I can't believe you, Harry!" Hermione scares the food out of me. It should be illegal to scare someone when they are eating breakfast.

"What? What've I done this time?" I ask once my coughing subsides.

"You gave that awful woman an interview?"

I wait for the ringing in my ear caused by her shriek to subside. "Oh, right. That's supposed to come out today. How does it look?"

"How does it look? She made you out to be some superhero who saves the defenceless damsels in his spare time," she cries. "I can't believe you told her about the troll and the basilisk!"

"People deserve to know the truth, Hermione," I tell her condescendingly enjoying the reddening on her face.

"I thought you didn't want the fame. 'I just hate how they keep staring at me'." To be honest, it's a good impression.

"I don't but I am famous anyway, Hermione. If I don't speak to the press, other people will. I am high profile. Would you prefer people to read about me from Lucius Malfoy's perspective? Because it's a safe to bet he's not above paying off a reporter to smear my name. Or would you prefer Rita Skeeter to write whatever she wants? This way, I get to control public opinion of me. Control the narrative, you control the masses. Besides, nothing I said was untruthful. Hell, it was too truthful."

"But-"

"Let me see what she wrote," I cut her off before she can rant. She gives me the Prophet. My interview is already open and damn, she really made me out to be a superhero. Boy-Who-Saved? It's better than Boy-Who-Lived, I guess.

'The heroic young man…' 'Always there to save the day…'

You know what? Reading this, I really am awesome.

"She may have exaggerated but there isn't a single lie in there. Is there?"

She shakes her head furiously. "No, there isn't. Trust me, I checked and rechecked."

I turn to my food. "Then what's the problem?"

"She made me out to be a damsel in distress!"

Ron sniggers from his seat next to me. "She really did."

"It's not funny, Ronald."

I look at her pointedly. "Come now, Hermione. No one will focus on how you were desperately begging for some hero to save you. They will focus on how I heroically risked my life to save a beautiful young maiden."

"I remember there being two of you." She crosses her arms and looks at Ron pointedly..

"Yeah, if anyone should be upset, that's Ron."

"Wait, she didn't even mention me once. Not once. I was there," Ron blows upon realisation. Hermione gets a smug look.

"Don't look at me. I told her about your involvement. I guess you are not as heroic as I am, Ron."

"I wish I was Harry Potter," Ron sulks.

"Nah, man. The hero is never the red-head. Redheads are born to be sidekicks," Neville informs him seriously and I laugh when Ron pouts.

"Why not? I want to be the hero."

"Oh, no, Ronniekins. Only Harry gets to be a hero around here. We, lowly peasants, can only hope to be near his magnificence," a Peter butts in.

"I'm sorry, guys. I am just too awesome, I guess." I shrug.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," the other Peter snarls.

"My, my. That sounded awfully like a threat."

"Hey, Fred," a Peter says.

"I'm George, you are Fred," the other points out.

"Can you come to the point instead of doing your usual ridiculous 'we are the twins, you can't tell us apart' charade? It became unoriginal after the first… I don't know, thousand times?"

They both glare at me. "You know what? It sounds like Mr Harry Potter got a too high opinion of himself," the left one says.

"He does, doesn't he?" the right one agrees.

"What do we do to people who are too full of themselves, my dear twin?"

"We teach them a lesson."

"Shall we teach him a lesson?"

I shiver dramatically. "For a second, I imagined what life would be like if I grew up in the same house as you. You know what, Ron? I feel for you, man. I feel for you."

"Yes, we shall," they declare together.

"Yeah, you do that while I sit here, quaking in my boots. Fucking morons." I turn to Ron. "You know, if I were your mother, I'd be wondering if it's too late to abort those two."

"I wish."


	5. Episode IV

**Chapter 1: Gryffindor-ish**

 **November 19, 1994**

"I don't get it, Remus. How can be so quick to just… turn on me?" I complain. Yes, I may sound a little childish and Sirius might be sniggering behind me but really, I'm too angry at the way the twins just turned on me suddenly to care about it. I guess I have betrayal issues if that's a thing.

"Harry, try to understand them. Those two love attention. Everything they do is flashy, even their twin talk puts them in the spotlight, separates them from the masses. They have three older brothers. Three successful older brothers. They are trying to make their mark by using jokes and pranks, the one area they think they are better at than their siblings. Remember how they tried to put their names in the goblet? They turned it into a show. And they failed."

"Yes, but I didn't even put my name in!" This may be the right time to tell you I drunk a couple glasses of whiskey.

"Yes, you succeeded where they failed and you didn't even try. They work all the time to put themselves out there, to show the world they exist and there you go, stealing the spotlight," Sirius points out.

"That's not my fault. I will not take their shit for something that isn't my fault."

"You shouldn't," Sirius cuts in. "You should give as good as you get."

"No, take the higher road. It's not worth throwing a friendship away," Remus disagrees.

"They are the ones to throw away a friendship. And frankly, I'm beginning to understand why the Slytherins hate them so much. Gah! There is a sentence I never thought I'd say. They made me agree with those slimy snakes!" I say the last part as if it's an unfathomable concept.

"Harry, you can't label a whole group of people under a single banner," Remus lectures predictably.

"You are too easy, man." Sirius shakes his head. "Can't you see he's having you on?" He points to my grin, sniggering.

"You little bugger," Remus laughs. "When did you grow up and learned how to goad us?"

"Since I was like five. There is the 'I got lost, nice lady, can you help me find my father?' bit where I then act like a scared boy and Sirius buys me an ice cream to calm me down and look good to the woman. Then the 'where do babies come from?' bit with the same results just to shut me up."

Remus laughs while Sirius looks at me incredulously. We can't have that.

"Hey now. Remember how I used to pretend to miss my parents so you, Remus, would buy me an ice cream?" He stops laughing immediately.

"Damn."

"Yep. I loved me some ice cream." I nod.

"My whole life was a lie." Sirius cries dramatically and takes a large sip of the firewhisky he's holding. "So, what are you going to do about the red-headed menaces?" he asks me after swallowing.

"I guess I'll wait and see what they come up with. If they do something out of line, I will beat them at their own game; humiliate them into submission."

"You have two masters backing you if you need ideas." Sirius points to himself and Remus. Now, Remus may be a kind man but he's unforgivingly protective of me.

"Don't you worry, old man. I can handle two sixth-year idiots. Their ego is far too big for their minds to handle is all."

"I am not old," the prodigal Black son sniffs.

"No shit. You are turning white, godfather."

"Noooo!" he cries while Remus and I laugh at him.

"You are too cruel, oh, godson of mine. Too cruel, I tells ya."

I smile and take a sip of whiskey before my smile turns upside down. "So, any news on the sleeper agent?"

Sirius sighs and rubs his left wrist, an old injury from the war. "No, we've been investigating behind the scenes with Mad-Eye but not a single lead turned out. Whoever is behind this made damn sure to cover their tracks."

That's depressing. Not that I expected much progress. Magic is a thing of miracle and if the sleeper agent knows what he's doing,- and we have no reason to doubt someone capable of working around the enchantments of Goblet of Fire- they must know how to keep themselves hidden.

"So, where does that leave us?" I ask.

"We continue to train for every possible situation while keeping our eyes open," Sirius answers with conviction.

"Yay," I celebrate with the enthusiasm of a death row inmate.

 **-HP-**

I stumble and fall, again, causing the only few inches of clean fabric on my back to lose the fight to the inevitable as I curse. I don't know what I was thinking, drinking so much, but regret is too difficult to muster when the stars give out a wondrous light show, spinning and spinning with no end in sight.

"Fly me to the moon, ye- let me play among the stars. Let me sh- see what shp- spring is like On Jupiter and Mars..."

I hear footsteps but ignore them in the drunken captivity of stars and music, singing one of Sinatra's masterpieces with slurred words and giggles for company. The owner of the foot accompanying my performance steps in front of me, a faint smell of flowers reaching my nose a moment before her silver hair blocks my view of the stars.

For a fleeting second, I debate whether to complain but she's a far superior scene than the one I had before. Her eyes roam over me, a small grimace marring her features, reminding me of the state of my clothes but I can't find it in me to care. "You look disgusting."

"You look divine," I respond, a reflexive half-smile on my lips, my words full of reverent honesty.

She sighs but the small reddening of her cheeks, visible only because of the silver glow coming from her wand, gives away her pleasure at the words. "What are you doing here at this hour? And are- are you drunk?"

I try to think up an excuse but my mind can't comprehend anything but the vision of beauty in front of me. "I can task you the shame quessions."

She points to my left, to where a big, powder-blue carriage is sitting innocently. "And no, I'm not drunk."

"Woah! That carriage looks aweshome."

Fleur snorts and waves her wand for a reason I can't begin to comprehend before sitting next to me as I turn my attention back to the stars. "What are you thinking?"

I throw her, I'm hoping, an inconspicuous glance. "Do you think there are aliens out there?"

She looks up for a second before turning her attention back at me and nods. "Yes, I think it's nonsensical for us to assume we are the only creatures in the universe as big as this."

"Do you think they shit too?" I ask, coming to the essential question.

"Oh, Joan!" she groans. "Why would you wonder such a thing?"

"You have a rudimentary knowledge of Egyptian mythos, I assume?" I ask. She nods. "Now, consider the ancient hieroglyphics. Among those, there are some that look awfully like what Muggles assume an alien aircraft would look like. So, let us imagine for a moment the Egyptian gods are aliens and the ancient and were so powerful, they seemed like gods."

A glance at her to see she's following my rumblings and a warm sensation flows through my body. "Now, take Ra, for instance. He's such a crucial guy amongst the gods. He created all forms of life. He fights Apep every night to keep the mortal world safe. Now, imagine for a moment if you will, that just as the sun sets, Ra had to take a shit which left no one powerful enough to fight off the God of Chaos. The world would have been screwed."

I watch the skies as I speak, my mind running with no sense of direction or intelligence, so I miss the moment it happened but when I turn to the beauty sitting next to me, she's looking at me incredulously, disbelief and amusement clear on her sunburnt features. "Is this what you do in your free time? Get drunk and wonder about mythological figures' bodily functions?"

I shrug and give her a big smile. "I work in mysterious ways."

"Talk about a big ego," she shoots but the small smile on her face tells me she doesn't take my words to heart.

"Hey, if the shoe fits," I joke and try to turn to my side to watch her with more ease. I end up lying face first on the mud.

Fleur laughs openly and deeply at my disgruntled mumbling as I stand, swaying. "Wow. Someone should tell the world to stay still."

She points her wand at my face and whispers, " _Tergeo,_ " to clean my face. "Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." I take a step forward and _stumble_ but Fleur catches me with an arm around my waist. I smother a smile and put my arm around her shoulders under the guise of using her for support. "Are you going to carry me to my room, oh my princess in shining armour?"

She half turns while applying a small pressure on my back to get me to move. Our faces are oh-so close, all I would have to do to steal a kiss is move my head a few inches. "You have an overactive imagination," she answers dryly.

I shrug, using our closeness to breathe in her delicious flavour. "A guy can dream."

"By all means, dream on."

We walk in silence for ten minutes, the muddy ground under our feet causing us to stumble often. The parallels with the night we met are obvious but I doubt I'll get to see her in her birthday suit this time. Still, I enjoy the feel of her body holding me up and the smell of she exudes jolting my senses every which way.

By the time we reach Hagrid's hut, she's breathing hard and I take pity on her with great reluctance. I stop our forward momentum, if you can call our crawling speed a momentum at all, with a small pressure on her shoulder. "I'll be okay from here on."

She looks up at me and I realise I'm taller than her now, which wasn't the case in summer and I wonder if it's because of the lack of heels or if I have grown. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I mumble and point to the hut and the smoke coming out of the chimney. "I'll crash at Hagrid's. He's a right bear, he is, and it's been a while since we spoke."

She looks dubious but nods, a little too eager to get rid of me for my taste, and walks us the short distance to the big man's doorstep.

It takes Hagrid a minute to answer the door, Fang barking up a chaos inside. "Shut up, you ruddy beast." The half-giant opens the door, a curious look on his face before that look turns to surprise, followed by an exasperated sigh. "What did you do this time, James?"

"I didn't do nuffin," I answer with a faux-offence.

"I found him lying on the mud," Fleur interrupts in a broken English that is far too sexy to be allowed without a license to speak. "He's drunk."

Hagrid takes a moment to decipher the words and shakes his head. "A nice cuppa should take the edge off well enough." That's Hagrid for ya. A cup of tea can solve any problem in his mind.

Instead of moving back and allowing us to enter, he swipes a giant hand and lifts me up by the back of my shirt like I'm a misbehaving child. "Hey! Be gentle," I complain. "I'm delicate."

"I've seen you take a bludger to your head and shrug it off," the big guy answers as he throws me to a big armchair. For a moment, he looks around like he forgot something before he moves to a side. "Come in, come in," he calls out to Fleur who has been watching us with a smile from the door.

She seems indecisive for a moment before she does as bid and sits across from me on another armchair, a new addition to the hut. The way she moves and sits is so delicate, like those of a royal princess from a movie, that a snigger escapes my lips before I can process. She throws me a dirty look before raising her nose in the air.

"So, what have you been doing out at this hour? Drunk no less?" Hagrid asks as he gives me and Fleur a mug of tea each after a few minutes of silence.

The look on Fleur's face as she takes the comically large mug is a gold standard though I refrain from laughing out loud. What surprises me so far in her reactions to Hagrid's home is I sense no disdain from her and no judgement. My opinion of her raises to new heights.

"I won my first duel against Remus today so we were celebrating by the lake with a few bottles of firewhisky," I answer and take a sip of the hot beverage, enjoying the soothing effects it has on my stomach. Maybe Hagrid was right. Maybe a nice cup of tea can solve the world's problems.

An errant thought makes me snort tea, earning raised eyebrows from the other two occupants of the room. They look at me questioningly but I wave their question away. I can't very well explain why I find the idea of stopping Voldemort with a cup of tea so funny.

"Ah, that explains it," Hagrid comments on my explanation. He looks out the window with a small smile of remembrance. "They were always like that, those two. Your father too. Always looking to make things interesting. I reckon I collected their drunken arses out of Black Lake in the middle of the night a dozen times at least."

I lean forward on my seat, drinking in the story about my father like I do every time. "And my mother? Did she ever join the resident troublemakers on their teenage rebellions?"

"Nah," Hagrid answers with a laugh. "Your mother had far too much sense to go anywhere near your father and his cohorts. But I could always tell she enjoyed their brand of chaos, no matter how much she would deny it."

I smile, the image of my mother's hidden smile as my father makes an arse of himself on my mind, branded forever there.

"So, what have you been up to?" Hagrid asks, sounding nonchalant which makes me think he's uncomfortable about something.

"This and that," I answer with a shrug, examining the man's face for any clue on what he wants to tell me but feels conflicted. "Training with Sirius," I say and continue when his face shows no tells, "preparing for the tournament."

There, his mouth twitched. Whatever troubles him is about the tournament. "Good, good," he says distractedly, having an internal debate.

I glance at Fleur and wonder if it's a good thing she's here or not. She looks vaguely interested in the proceedings though her eyes are mostly on me so she probably didn't catch onto Hagrid's discomfort.

I can't say I'm displeased about that, she can look at me as much as she wants.

"Dragons," Hagrid whispers, pulling me out of my musings. I turn to Hagrid who is leaning forward on his seat, his shoulders tense. "The first task is Dragons."

I glance at Fleur again to find her positioned similar to Hagrid, her eyes wide. "They want us to kill a Dragon?" she asks, disbelief ringing clear in her voice.

Hagrid shakes a head in a Dobby-like reaction. "Nah. No easy feat, killing a Dragon. Takes dozens of wizards. I hardly think they would ask that of a bunch of school kids, no matter how talented you lot are." He chuckles and leans back on his seat. "'Sides, I doubt the Dragon Sanctuary would allow six of their dragons to die. No, I reckon you'll steal something from them. All six are mothers with eggs."

"Yeah, 'cause that makes them all docile and friendly," I grumble, unsure whether to be insulted by the happy look on Hagrid's face. It must be a dream come true for him, seeing six dragons up close.

Fleur and I make eye contact as both of us process the knowledge we will have to, one way or another, face creatures classified as wizard-killers. I think about the possible ways I can get around a dragon or get the better of it but the only thing my drunken mind can focus on is the image of a fiery death.

"How glad you must be, Fleur, to have a chance to compete," I joke, but it falls flat as the girl glares at me with enough heat to rival a dragon.

Yeah, she'll be okay.

 **-HP-**

 **November 20, 1994**

I walk into the castle with a spring in my step, enjoying the surprisingly warm morning sun. It's Sunday and a good one at that, what with the sun and all.

I am hungry enough to rival Ron this morning because I might have forgotten to eat anything last night. Oh, well.

I make my way to where my friends and I usual seat at the Gryffindor table and sit down next to a glaring Hermione. Her expression turns to shock, a blush creeping to her face as she stares at my chest and I look down to see- Oh my, I'm naked except my boxers. The twins must have charmed my seat to vanish everything except the essentials. Nicely done.

I can see my friends and the twins waiting in silence for my reaction but I give none. I put a dozen strips of bacon and some chips on my plate and start on my meal. Slowly but surely, all conversation across the great hall stops. I still give no sign of discomfort.

The idiots think sitting naked in front of a thousand people is humiliating? Okay, yes, it is an embarrassing situation but I sure as hell won't let them know it.

Surprisingly, I finish half of my plate in silence before anyone says anything. "Mr Potter, I hope you are aware of your... nakedness?" Professor McGonagall sighs. A laughter erupts across the hall.

"Oh, boy. I knew I was forgetting something this morning." I shake my head. "I will be sure to put on some clothes when I finish eating, professor." Another laughter.

"You will go to your dorm and dress appropriately now, Mr Potter." That is an order and the way she said it promised regret if I don't comply immediately..

"Aw, man! I was right in the middle of the best part of breakfast."

"There is a best part of breakfast?" Hermione asks, unable to stop her curious mind even with her blood threatening to burst out of her face.

"Yeah, eating it," Ron and I respond at the same time. Sometimes, we are so in sync, it's scary.

"Mr Potter!"

"Okay, okay. There is no need to yell, my dear professor. I'm going."

I stand up and make my way to the middle of the hall leisurely. Ignoring the looks I get from the ladies is hard but I fight tooth and nail to keep the blood from rushing to my face. My tattoos, I think, attract a lot of attention, especially the moving tattoo of Puck.

I hear a handful of people whistle and my ego hits the roof. Just before I leave the hall, I stop and bow to the hall as a few people clap, Katie leading them.

"Thank you. I'm here all year long, ladies and gentlemen. Please don't forget to tip your waiters."

 **-HP-**

 **November 23, 1994**

"Harry James William Black Potter!" Now that's a mouthful and a whole new level of angry Hermione. Oh and yes, I decided to go all Dumbledore and have a ridiculous number of names. "You should work on figuring out a strategy for the task in three days instead of sitting on your butt and playing that barbaric game of chess!"

I get the feeling Hermione is upset about something. I'm pretty sure.

Speaking in what I hope to be a soothing voice, I say, "Hermione, dear, calm down."

Ron ruins my efforts at a single stroke. "She said butt." That he sniggers after saying that is just the icing on the cake.

"And you, Ronald Bilius Weasley! Instead of facilitating his laziness, you should be encouraging him to prepare for the task ahead!"

"I have a plan, Hermione. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Calm the fuck down."

"What plan?" There is a moment of silence where we wait for the penny to drop. "And language," she adds with an uncaring wave when she realises what we are waiting for.

"I'm not going to tell you what my plan is," I say, my tone is incredulous as if that's the most ridiculous thing I heard.

"What?! Why not?"

"I don't wanna."

"What do you mean you don't 'wanna'?"

"I want it to be a surprise. It's a good one though."

Hermione sighs and looks up. "James... Please. I'm going crazy with worry here." Her eyes are more than a little moist at this point but I won't cave.

"Hermione, after all we've been through, do you really think I'll let a little thing like a Dragon hurt me?"

Ron snorts at my words. "That little thing is an over twenty-five foot, fire throwing, flying lizard."

"Semantics."

"Whatamantics?"

I wave my hands aimlessly at Ron. "Ron... just... okay?"

He nods. "Okay."

See, Ron gets it.

"Hermione, dear, I will be just fine. I won't get hurt, I promise."

"How are you going to manage that?" Apparently, Neville doesn't get it.

"Merlin! Don't you people hear a word I said? I. Won't. Tell."

"But-"

"Hermione, think about what you want. Do you really want to have a fight just before I go against a Dragon? Those things are dangerous. Do you want the last conversation we may ever have to be a fight?"

"You just said you have a plan that would make sure you don't get hurt!"

I nod. "Yes. So there is no need to worry."

I fried her brain at this point. Now, Hermione is a smart girl but when she gets emotional, it's easy to mess with her logical side if you know what you are doing.

"I guess that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't." Sometimes, I want to kill Neville.

"Neville, even Hermione agrees with me. Are you sure you want to argue against Hermione? You know, the smartest witch of her age?"

He shrugs but gives me a pointed look that tells me he knows I'm full of shit. "I guess not."

"Good. See, we are one big happy family."

Hermione looks at me with her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You used that weird logic thing on me again, didn't you?"

I put on an innocent mask. "Me? Never."

Ron snorts and that starts Hermione on another rant.

After another half an hour of pointless arguments, Hermione finally gives up. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll just crawl to a corner and die out of fear quietly."

"You can be such a drama queen sometimes."

Neville changes the subjects slightly. "What about Cedric? We can't let him go to the task without knowing he will face a Dragon."

"Yeah, I want to tell all of them." I nod. "Any ideas on how I go about telling without everyone knowing it's me?"

"Why don't you want to reveal it's you?" Hermione asks.

"I want no one to think they owe me anything. This is about sportsmanship and making sure they all survive."

"We'll figure something out."

And we did. Well, it was Hermione's idea, mostly. She figured it'd be best to just write them a note each and send them with owls. Idea being so bland, I added a little flair. We transfigured five miniature paper Dragons, and I charmed them to fly to their target. When the dragons land in front of the champions, they would untransfigure themselves, revealing the writing on them; 'There be dragons, y'all'.

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 2: Trials of Fire**

 **November 26, 1994**

I walk into the great hall and take a deep breath. Man, I love the smell of excitement in mornings. Okay, that didn't sound as cool as I thought it would. Nevermind.

Excitement is in the air as I walk into the great hall. That's no better. Whatever.

Today is the day of the first task: the Fire Challenge. Everyone in the hall is excited. Well, except champions and their close friends. They are nervous and afraid for their friend, respectively. A date with a Dragon does that to you.

Don't get me wrong, by now, everyone knows the champions will face dragons. I guess when you are not the one who will have to face the danger, the prospect of death is entertaining to the masses. Who knew?

I'm not too sure about the details of the task but I'm betting they won't have us fighting the dragon into submission. That would be stupid and hypocritical considering Hogwarts' motto. Hagrid's idea makes the most sense, I guess, and I planned accordingly.

I walk to the Gryffindor table with Hermione and Neville. Ron is still sleeping. What a surprise, I know. When we reach the table, some people clap, which is nice of them. I guess I still have the support of some Gryffindors.

I give my supporters a nod and pile up a large breakfast. I'd be lying if I say I'm not nervous but I'm doing okay. Better than I did before my first Quidditch match at least. Hermione is nervous enough for the both of us anyhow.

I finish my plate and use the opportunity to spy on my competition. Krum has his poker face on but you can see him go over his playbook by the vacant look on his face. Britt's face shows her nerves but compared to the other champions, those two look as if it's any other day.

Fleur is not her usual self to say the least. Normally, she'd sit with perfect posture and pretend only her small group of friends exist. Right now, her face is pale and I don't think she is pretending. She really notices no one around her.

Next to her, Aimee is a mess of nerves. There is no other way to put it. Her hands shake as she drinks from a goblet and I can see the sweat on her face from where I sit, two tables over.

Cedric is not himself neither. On an average day, Cedric can be best described as a social butterfly, conversing with everyone around him and always smiling. Now, he looks on with unseeing eyes, unaware of the nervous glances of his friends. I'm guessing he's questioning why he even considered entering this tournament, let alone compete.

"Harry. Harry!" I hear an exasperated Hermione.

"Sorry. I spaced out for a second."

"I wonder why," she says sarcastically. "Are you sure you are ready for this?"

I can see the fear she has for my livelihood in her eyes. No! I won't cave. I grin. "Relax, Hermione. I'll be fine. It's just a Dragon, for Merlin's sake."

"Aren't you nervous at all?"

Oh, yeah, I'm nervous. It's a fucking Dragon. "No."

"At least tell me your plan."

"No."

"Tell me. Tell me. Tell me."

"You will have to wait and see, Hermione."

"Come on. It'd ease my mind to know you have a plan."

"Not going to happen. Rest assured, I have no intention of going anywhere near a Dragon."

"You don't even know what the challenge is; what makes you think you won't have to go near it?" It's Neville who asks that wonderful question. Merlin, he's pushing Hermione towards a heart attack at this point.

"Well, I'm guessing they won't have us kill a Dragon or pet it. We will have to either get past it, in which case I don't even have to worry about it, or they will make us steal something from it."

Hermione thinks about it and nods. Neville, on the other hand, points to a viciously happy Draco Malfoy and asks, "Are you sure about that?"

I gulp. "Yeah, pretty sure," I stammer.

Now, I'm really nervous.

 **-HP-**

"Mr. Potter, the champions are expected in the tent to prepare for the task," Professor McGonagall informs me in a far too emotionally charged voice for her. For a normal person, her voice might be business as usual but us, Gryffindors know her better.

"Sure thing." I give a kiss to Hermione and nod to Neville and Ron, who finally deigned to join the land of the living, and get up to follow the lady.

I follow her out of the great hall and the castle. While we walk, I take in the beautiful weather. "It's a great weather, don't you think, Aunt Min? Just the right temperature to fight a Dragon."

Understanding dawns on her and she rewards me with a small smile. "How did you find out?"

"You know me. Nothing goes on this school without my knowledge," I answer cockily. "I mean honestly, not even Salazar could keep a secret from me."

"And pray tell how did you find out about this one? Albus was doing his best to keep this a secret." She is back to professor mode.

"He shouldn't have told Hagrid then," I chuckle.

"Who else knows then?"

"I'd wager everyone knows by now seeing as Fleur was with me when Hagrid told me and I informed the other champions anonymously."

She chuckles and pets me on the arm. "That's good. I don't know what they were thinking, pitting school children against Dragons. With no preparation no less."

It's obvious she's been stressing about this a lot.

"Don't worry, Aunt Minerva. I'll be sure to protect you from the big bad Dragon," I tease.

She glares at me. "You should focus on staying alive, Harry. A Dragon is nothing to joke about."

"Meh. After that Basilisk, a Dragon should be a child play."

"Harry-"

"Don't worry, auntie. I have the perfect plan. I have no intention of going anywhere near those things."

She looks at me searchingly and nods. "Good. I'd hate to lose the Quidditch cup to Severus next year."

I look at her incredulously. "That's all I am to you, am I? A guaranteed win for the Quidditch cup. I knew it." I put my hand in my heart dramatically. "Damn you, woman. I gave you my heart, and you broke it. Are you happy now? Tell me, are you happy?"

We are at the entrance of a tent erected just for this occasion. "If you are done with your theatrics, Mr Potter," she drawls and pushes me in.

"Fine," I huff. "You used to be more fun."

The champions already there with Ludo 'the Fatman' Bagman and Barty Crouch, the guy with the most awful voice to have ever graced the god's green Earth.

"Wonderful, now that we have all the champions here, we can begin," the fat man announces hyperactively. He pulls out a bag from his robes. "Inside these bags are miniature versions of the creatures you will to face. Each of you will get a different breed based on your selection, randomly, from the bag. Are you ready?" He beckons Fleur. "Ladies first."

Fleur picks a Dragon that can be only described as gorgeous, what with pearly silver scales and multicoloured eyes. It has the number five drawn on her belly. Antipodean Opaleye. The Dragon looks around prettily and huffs a smoke. It's an unlucky pick though. Antipodean Opaleye are not aggressive but they are wickedly smart according to Newt Scamander.

I met Mr Scamander once in my third year when he came to Hogwarts for the Buckbeak incident. He was one of Dumbledore's favourite students and when Dumbledore asked for his help on saving Buckbeak; he rushed to the Hogwarts. Apparently, he was kicked out of Hogwarts like Hagrid but Dumbledore pulled strings and made sure he kept his wand. It's a shame he couldn't do the same for Hagrid. The famous magizoologist is an odd guy with the heart of gold. I think the best way to describe him would be 'a smarter, smaller Hagrid'.

He showed me this amazing suitcase he turned into a zoo for magical animals. He had a Nundu- a fucking Nundu- that was docile as a house cat.

I petted a Nundu! Can you believe it?!

We talked about magical animals in great length. He was quite interested in Puck and the monstrosity I disposed of in Chamber of Secrets. He said both were incredibly rare; it was the first time he ever came across a Raiju and never done so in the Basilisk's case. He advised me on what to expect as Puck grows and I gifted him with some extra Basilisk parts I had lying around.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The Opaleye.

I can feel the urge to swoon and tell myself 'I must not swoon' repeatedly. The creature is a cutie though I doubt the real thing would give me the same desire.

Bagman holds the bag for Aimee to pick. She picks a Common Welsh Green. A lucky choice as long as she avoids the Dragon's fire which would be difficult as this Welsh delight has a long range and an owl-like neck that allows her to rotate her head almost full circle. Aimee will go first, which gives her less time to adjust and come to grips with her fate.

Britt goes next. She gets number four; Swedish Short-Snout. Damn. That's a fiery one. Its fire can reach temperatures so hot, it can reduce someone to ash in fifteen seconds.

Cedric picks a Peruvian Vipertooth with Number two on it. Now, which idiot's idea was to bring a Vipertooth? For those of you who didn't know, these fuckers are the source of Dragon Pox. You know, the most dangerous illness for the wizard kind. And an injury from the fire those bastards sprout is a nightmare thanks to the disease they spread. After all, to cure Dragon Pox, the victim's body temperature is kept high and to cure a burn victim, you keep the body temperature low.

Krum moves ahead of me and puts his hand in the bag. He pulls out number three, Chinese Fireball. An agile Dragon for a professional athlete, or what passes for an athlete for the magical people. Still, it's a good pick. If Krum is as agile on the ground as he's in the air, he can easily negate Chinese Fireball's agility.

That leaves me... fuck. Hungarian Horntail. It may not be a Basilisk or a Nundu but those sociopathic fuckers are one of nature's most effective killing machines. Still, there is a silver lining; if my plan doesn't work, my death will be swift.

Yay!

Bagman looks a little upset with my pick. Either he has a soft heart or the fucker bet on me which would explain his reluctance to allow additional two champions. Lucky for him, I have a great plan. I think I do. I hope I do.

Okay, I am getting nervous now.

"Your task today is to steal a single golden egg from the Dragon you picked. After that, you are going to steal three smaller opaque eggs from another beast. What beast is that you may ask," he says leadingly and cheerfully. Fat fuck. "That is going to stay a surprise. Get pass your dragon and you shall see. Your eggs will provide the clue for the second task."

I guess he must have had enough with Bagman as well because Crouch finally talks. "When you hear the cannon, Miss Beaufort, proceed out of the tent to start your task." When everyone nods, Bagman and Crouch leave.

We all stand aimlessly for a second before moving to our designated changing rooms to prepare.

I enter the changing room to find a uniform in Gryffindor red and gold that resembles a tracksuit too much for my liking. I understand the colours. House pride and all that but I will not go out to the public with this. I don't care how shallow you think I am being.

Instead, I transfigure the clothes into a purple robe with stars and moons on it and some leafs I find on the ground to fake beards and hair, all white of course. All that is missing now is half-moon glasses. I use rocks for that.

I look in the mirror and find a shorter, green-eyed, straight nosed, all around better looking Albus Dumbledore looking at me. Good. I feel smarter already.

I return to the main room of the tent and everyone looks at me weirdly. "What? Do I have something on my face?" Oh, how I wish I knew how Albus does that twinkling eye thing.

Cedric is the one to respond. "James?"

"Yes, my boy? Did you need something?" I ask in a grandfatherly tone.

"You don't plan to go out there looking like this, right?"

"Why not?"

"You realise you look like Dumbledore, don't you?"

"A most astute observation, Cedric, my dear boy," I answer with my best Albus impression.

He looks at me like I'm insane. "Won't that, you know, impede your mobility?"

See, that's what I like about Cedric. He looks out for everyone.

"When you are my age, Cedric, you find agility a thing of the past," I answer sagely.

"You are insane," he says in realisation.

I nod. "Ah, I always found senility to be an overrated concept."

He shakes his head and turns his back.

Some people have no sense of humour. I made Aimee smile though. I guess that's something.

The cannon goes off. Aimee's smile disappears as she takes a deep breath and proceeds to the exit. Fleur cuts her off and hugs the breath out of her before allowing her passage.

Next twenty-eight minutes are tense. We listen to the dragon's roars and the crowd's 'ah's and 'oh's. We listen as they cheer and as they scream and it's fucking nerve wrecking. Knowing what's out there but having no idea what's going on is a nightmare akin to what's waiting out there.

The crowd screams again and I send a silent prayer for Aimee. She seems like a delightful girl with a smile for everyone.

There is silence after the scream and it's even worse than the scream.

Finally, after a minute of silence, crowd roars in approval and all five of us take a deep breath. We may be competitors but none of us wants any of the others dead. Well, Cedric wants humour dead but whatever.

Fleur's relief though is a sight to see. A look of someone who has seen sun after decades in captivity passes on her face and it is breathtaking. This is the only time other than when she played the violin after the club that I've seen this much emotion on her face.

Aimee did well though. Thirty minutes is not bad when you consider she went against a Dragon and Merlin knows what else the sadistic minds of the organisers cooked up.

"Am I the only one cursing myself for entering this thing?" Cedric asks with a nervous laugh.

Everyone looks at him sympathetically in confirmation but I'm the only one to verbally answer. "Yeah, we curse you too, mate." Cedric laughs and Krum gives a small smirk but I get no reaction from Britt or Fleur.

Cannon goes off again, and it's Cedric's turn. "Good luck, Cedric. Watch out for the face. Wouldn't want to damage the goods," I offer him and he nods in response.

Listening to Cedric is no different. The only difference is the crowd celebrates a little more enthusiastically after thirty-five minutes.

Next goes Krum, and he finishes in thirty minutes with a lot less cries of despair.

Britt goes, and it's just Fleur and me in the tent now. She looks nervous but self-assured. I guess hearing other people survive helped her nerves; I know it helped mine.

There is a scream from the crowd around forty minute mark, and Fleur and I look at each other with wide eyes. That didn't sound good. After half a minute of tense silence, crowd cheers not-so-enthusiastically.

"Does it smell like over-cooked meat to you?" I ask with a nervous laugh.

"I don't think that's funny," Fleur hisses.

"Relax. They wouldn't cheer if she wasn't okay. I'm guessing she's feeling a little hot, but that's nothing Poppy can't fix."

"How are you so calm?"

I really am calm now. Hearing Cedric and the others go through their dragon helped my nerves immensely. Now that I know they did it, I know I will as well.

"It helps that I have no intention of going anywhere near any Dragon."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Giving up already, boy?" she asks me a little too condescendingly for my taste.

"Nope," I answer cheerfully. "I'll finish this task the fastest and with no injuries whatsoever."

"And how do you plan on doing that if you won't go near the _Hungarian Horntail_?"

"I will rock her world." Heh. That's a cool pun.

She rolls her eyes prettily. "Are you not going to tell me?"

"Why would I ruin the surprise?"

The crowd cheers again which means Britt survived the task. I breathe a little easier. All my bravado aside, I really was afraid she'd not. She finished in forty-four minutes.

"See, she survived," I point out to Fleur. She gives a small smile. That's something, I guess. "So, what is your plan?"

"Why would I tell you my plan when you won't tell me yours?" She smirks.

"Just because I am stubborn and obnoxious, doesn't mean you have to act the same."

"Fine." She laughs. "I will tell you only because there is no way you can steal my plan. I am going to sing it to sleep."

She can sing? Is there anything she can't do?

Oh, and I can't believe I'm jealous of a Dragon. I can't hear anything from the pit.

"Oh, boy." I shake my head.

"What?" she asks me right before the cannon go off.

"Let's just say my song won't be putting anyone to sleep. Good luck out there. And... be safe," I order her seriously.

"Thanks."

What follows is twenty-seven minutes of hell.

 **-HP-**

The cannon goes off for the last time today and I calmly walk out of the tent. It's evening, so the sun is to my right. That will be a big advantage against the Horntail.

The crowd's first reaction upon seeing me is laughing which surprises me for a second before I remember what I look like.

The Quidditch pitch is unrecognisable. There is no field of grass anymore. Hell, there is no field. Instead, everywhere I look is filled with rocks and boulders of various sizes. The only remnants of the Quidditch stadium are the expanded stands outfitted with a new colour scheme that offers a sense of internationality to the tournament.

I stroll calmly, my senses on alert, and after twenty feet, I see a steep slope down. It's a small pit with four of Hagrid's new darlings; Blast-Ended Skrewts.

I have no desire to go anywhere near those fuckers. Their shell is stupidly thick and they shoot fire out of their asses.

I wonder for a second about Hagrid's thought process and how he reached the conclusion that fire-shitting Skrewts were a cool idea.

I look around me for an idea on getting over this little challenge without having to go through those things. Over. That's an idea.

I consider turning into my animagus form for a second but I discard that idea as soon as it comes. This is supposed to be a test of magical prowess and while animagus transformation is a talent all by itself, it's not exactly original. I vaguely remember a story about three brothers who had to get past a dangerous river.

A bridge then? Yes.

I draw my wand and use the various rocks and boulders around to build myself a temporary bridge and cast an Immobilisation charm to keep it in place. The other side of the small valley is sixty feet away, so it takes me four minutes to build the bridge and walk over it.

I realise I can't hear the crowd anymore. There must be a Voice-Nullifying charm surrounding the pitch to allow the champions to focus. Good idea.

I can see the Hungarian bastard now. It's weird; I couldn't see it a minute ago. An enchantment of some sort then. Doesn't matter. It's not related to the task at hand.

I look at the dragon and consider my route. The dragon is in the middle of a rocky landscape that is two-hundred feet long and a hundred and eighty feet wide. Sun is to my right which is where I will be going. The Dragon and its nest are in the centre, and I can see the golden egg with five dragon eggs the beast is ready to protect with its life. She's lucky I don't intend on testing her commitment.

No, of course I'm not polishing my own wand. I can so totally take on the Dragon. I'm in a good mood is all.

If I'll go right, the Dragon must go left which is where the entertainment should be.

I start by building a wall on the right side of the pitch from the boulders nearby. That will be my cover. I leave the boulders between me and the nest untouched to cover for my little spy's movements.

It's showtime. The Dragon hasn't made a move yet other than eyeing me with obvious hunger. I twirl my wand and turn to the left side of the pitch. I start a complicated series of chants and dance around with my wand. Illusions are a branch of magic that fell into obscurity because they have little use other than creating a show but I know the value of good visuals so I spent many a night studying and practicing.

My casting takes five minutes to finish but those two minutes are well spent. The Horntail isn't looking at me anymore. She's focused on the five men standing on the left side of pitch with their instruments.

I give another wave with my wand and AC/DC start their first live concert to the magical community of Britain with their hit song, Highway to Hell. I think it's theme appropriate what with the beast in front of me being capable of unleashing hell through her mouth.

One thing to know about Dragons, all Dragons, is that they are extra sensitive to noise which is why I chose this song.

The dragon gets agitated and slowly moves toward the band. I keep myself low and transfigure a nearby boulder to a thirty feet, light brown snake. The snake's job is simple. It will slither his way to the nest and swallow the golden egg, and its colour will make it harder for the Dragon to spot its movements.

I give another wave and colourful sparks and flashes erupt around the band to allow the snake's movements go unnoticed.

Did you know a dragon's' eyes can see even the smallest movements? That's why disillusionment rarely works great against dragons. That's also why I'm doing the whole light show. While the dragon's eyes are sensitive to movement, they react violently to bright colours which means she will focus completely on the left field which will cover for my snake's and my movements.

That done, I run behind my cover wall and crouch. A glance at the stands tells me the crowd is obviously enjoying themselves, especially the Muggle-borns who know the song. Good. The better the show I present, the more points I will get.

I may not have joined the competition willingly, but that doesn't mean I will give anything but my best performance.

The song ends just as my snake nears the nest. Dragon is already spouting fire left and right at the band members which doesn't hurt them at all because they are nothing but a colourful light show but I can feel the heat even from behind the wall as sweat pours out of my body. Another wave of wand and another song starts. Back in Black this time because I'm a Black as much as a Potter. Another wave and a new light show ensue to keep the dragon's attention solely on where I want it to be.

This is going great.

I make my way to the end of the wall and wait for my snake there. The snake slithers to me slowly but I am not in a hurry so I wait as I enjoy the song and the crowd's appreciation. Hurrying means mistakes and as long as the dragon continues to focus on the band, I need not take the risk. Just as the song ends, my snake reaches me and... pukes my egg out.

Good boy.

I am far enough from dragon to be safe so I cancel the illusion and give a small bow at the silent claps of the spectators. Illusion spells are a bitch to maintain and I have no intention of wasting my strength on them when I have no idea what lies ahead. Bagman seemed to find whatever it is funny which means it's either not funny at all or completely redundant.

I stroll forward with my snake in tow. I like this snake. It gives me the shiniest of gifts.

It was a good idea to keep the snake because the 'surprise' beast is an ashwinder. Ashwinder's are class three beasts. Which means they should be no trouble for me at all. Still, there is no need to get my hands dirty dealing with it.

I apply an Impervius charm on my snake and send it to attack the ashwinder. The charm should be enough to protect it from ashwinder's heat. As they fight, I amble towards the duo and throw a cutting curse to kill the fiery beast. That done, I kneel to scoop up the two smaller eggs, opaque.

That was a mistake. I forgot to account for the heat so my hand burns a little just as I touch it.

Shit. There goes my promise to survive unscathed.

I apply a Flame-Freezing charm on both my hands and the eggs, conjure a basket and pick it up, successfully this time.

The moment I pick up the eggs, I hear the crowd roar in approval. I peer the judges from above my glasses and make eye contact with Dumbledore. He smiles at me proudly. It feels good to make the old man proud.

I give him a nod and walk into the medical tent. Poppy is immediately all over me. I could just tell her I'm fine but she wouldn't believe me so I let her do her thing.

"No injuries," she comments, unbelieving.

"Why would I be injured?" I ask her as if she's being daft. "What? The Dragon? Oh, she was a sweetheart." I flex my hand. "My hand was a little singed, but I applied a Flame-Freezing charm which should take care of it fine," I tell her when she still looks disbelieving.

"Fine. Go on then," she orders me.

"How are the others?"

"Not as healthy as you but the worst case was Miss Henningsen. She was exposed to Dragon fire for a short moment but that's nothing a couple days in the infirmary won't solve. Now go. The judges are waiting for you to announce the scores."

"Thanks."

I transfigure my awesome robe to a more 'normal' version of itself, drop the long beard, hair and glasses, and walk out of the tent to see the other champions waiting for me. Poppy was right. They are all worse for the wear but nothing too serious. Cedric and Britt won't enjoy looking in the mirror for a week while Aimee won't be using his left hand at dinner tonight.

I give them a grin and ask, "did you all enjoy the show?"

Fleur's eyes narrow, Krum looks at me with blank eyes and Britt doesn't care at all while Cedric and Aimee smile at me.

"You did well out there, Potter," Cedric praises. He points to left side of his face. "Better than me at any rate."

"Thanks, mate." I wink at him. "I guess your fan club will be a little upset."

"Yeah. I'm guessing they'll be part of your club now," he says unashamedly.

My eyes widen in fear. Oh god, no. "Tell me I don't really have a fan club."

He can't tell me that because Bagman interrupts our conversation. "Now that all the champions have completed their tasks, it's time we turn to the judges for the scores," he announces.

"First is the lovely Miss Aimee Beaufort who conjured three large birds to attack and distract her Dragon while she stole the eggs."

Madame Maxime gives her nine, followed by Karkaroff's six and Dumbledore's eight. Crouch gives her a seven and an Asian man gives her another eight. That makes thirty-eight points in the first task.

The Asian man is a representative from ICW. I'm told a different representative will be the fifth judge for each challenge.

"Next up, we have Cedric Diggory of our own Hogwarts. He distracted his dragon by transfiguring a boulder to a large dog. He got his egg with little problems but couldn't keep from being burned after the fact. Let's see what the judges thought of his performance."

Cedric gets an seven from Maxime, a six from Karkaroff, another eight from Dumbledore, another eight from Crouch and yet another eight from the judge from ICW. Thirty-seven, not bad.

Another six from Karkaroff. That's funny.

"Let's see the scores for Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star, who attacked his dragon with a series of conjunctivitis curses while dodging the dragon's attacks with a great show of agility. He successfully blinded the dragon who, sadly, fell on her own eggs, breaking them."

Okay, this is ridiculous. Krum gets six from Maxime and Dumbledore while the ICW judge gave him a seven, Crouch an eight, and Karkaroff a ten- a freaking TEN-. Krum's total for the first task is thirty-seven.

"Our fourth champion is Miss Britt Henningsen. She attacked her dragon head-on with an impressive array of powerful spells. She successfully pushed the dragon away from the nest but got burned in the process. What did our judges think about that?"

Britt's scores are a little more steady than the rest. She got six from everyone except Karkaroff who gave her a… ten. Thirty-four points.

"Next up, we have beautiful Miss Fleur Delacour who successfully charm her dragon to sleep with a beautiful lullaby and was second fastest to finish."

Fleur must've done well because she gets the highest score so far with forty-three points. A ten from Maxime, three nines from Dumbledore, Crouch and the ICW judge and a six from Karkaroff.

Sigh. Do I even need to point out?

"And finally, our own Harry Potter put on a great music show to distract the Hungarian Horntail and conjured a snake to steal his egg. He was the fastest to complete the task with sixteen minutes. Let's see what our judges will score him."

Wow. I knew I did great but it must have looked a lot cooler than I thought because I get straight tens from four of the judges - do I even have to say which judges? - and a seven from Karkaroff. That gives me forty-seven points.

"There we have it, folks. Great performances all around. For the next challenge, our champions will have to figure out the clues from their eggs to prepare. The challenge will take place in January fourteen. I suggest everyone ready their raincoats by then."

Seeing Crouch glare at Bagman, I think he let something slip. Hm. Interesting.

 **-HP-**

I walk out of the stadium and am hit by a bushy-haired missile. "Merlin, Hermione! You aren't as light as you used to be. You can't just jump on me like this."

"Shut up, you prat." She laughs and hits me in the shoulder. "You were great out there, Harry. Though your choice of music leaves a lot to be desired."

"And pray tell what's wrong with the songs I picked?"

"Highway to hell? Really? You couldn't pick more cliche song if you wanted to." She snickers.

"But Sis, wizards and witches, do you really think they had any idea how popular that song is?"

"What was that with the Dumbledore costume?"

"Dunno. They gave me this ugly tracksuit to wear. No way in hell I was going to wear them so I had a little fun," I answer with a shrug.

"That was disrespectful."

"Albus didn't seem to think so."

"Harry!" I hear a yell and turn to find Rita making her way towards me.

"Hi, Rita."

"Do you mind answering a few questions for my readers?"

Huh. Isn't she a sweetheart with her respect for boundaries and all?

"Not at all. Go ahead."

"You received the highest score today. What do you think your chances are going forward?"

"I am going to win. That has nothing to do with chance," I respond with absolute surety.

"You put on a great show today, showing not only your prodigious talent but a refreshing ingenuity. What was your thought process?"

"Well, I really didn't want to deal with the Blast-Ended Skrewts so I went over them. The dragon... well there was no fucking way I was going to go near that monstrosity so that left me with the choice of luring him away with a distraction."

"What about your choice of music? Young Mr Creevey tells me both songs were popular Muggle songs."

"I needed something distracting, something loud. Why I chose Muggle? Because I love their music." Only after finishing I realise what she said. "Colin? You watched the task with Colin?"

"We have a deal. I wanted to honour that." She nods. "You got forty-seven points today. What do you think you could have done better to get full points?"

I consider lying for a fleeting moment but decide not to. "Nothing. The only reason Karkaroff gave me a seven instead of a ten is he is an unfair and biased judge. It's clear when you compare the points he gave to the champions to what other judges gave us. Don't misunderstand me, Viktor is a very talented wizard but I can't help wonder why none of the other judges thought his performance was worthy of a ten."

Rita looks at me like she would give me her first-born son. I guess I was controversial enough for Miss poison-pen's tastes. "That's it for my questions about the task. I have a few more questions. Do you have a girlfriend?"

I give her a cheeky grin. "Why? Are you planning on trying your luck?"

"Still not a paedophile, Harry. Answer the question."

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Do you have anyone in mind? Anyone you are interested?"

"There is one name that comes to mind but I shall keep that information to myself for the moment."

Her lips curve up in a predatory smile. "Could this girl be someone you know intimately? Maybe someone you saved from a troll?"

I laugh and turn to a red-faced Hermione. "What do you think, Hermione? Want to be my girlfriend?"

"Ew."

I turn back to Rita. "There goes your answer. Hermione is my sister in all but blood. I love her too much to let her date me."

Rita gives up. "You won't tell me who it is you are thinking, will you?" I shake my head. "Okay, then. Tell me about your tattoos. Why so many of them and what do they mean to you?"

I guess Colin's purse must feel heavy if he's willing to risk my ire by selling my almost-naked pictures. I smile sweetly. "The ones over my heart are representations of my family. Stag represents my father, he was an animagus. Lily represents my mother, obviously. Dog represents my godfather, Sirius. Wolf represents my uncle, Remus. Cat represents Minerva McGonagall and the glasses on the cat represents Albus."

"On my right arm, the basilisk and the phoenix represent my closest brush with death yet. The blue fox on my left arm is my familiar, Puck." I turn serious and give her a meaningful look. "The ones on my back are all the living things I had to kill so far."

"Oh."

"I'm going to go, now."

"It was a pleasure, Harry. Great job on the task!"

"Thank you, Rita." I give her a leer and add, "I aim to please."

Hermione and I continue our way with Rita's laughter ringing behind us. We walk in an uncomfortable silence for a while. It's never fun to talk about the tattoos on my back. Especially when you consider I am a fourteen years old boy who have marks for seven deaths. That's a death every two years.

"Do you think it was a good idea to talk about Karkaroff like that?"

"You saw the point board, did you not? If he doesn't want people to claim he's biased, he shouldn't be so obviously biased." I give her a pointed look to stop her from continuing on the subject. "Now, come on. I'm betting there is a party waiting to happen in the common room."

She turns away from me with a faint blush.

"Oh, come on. Did you really think I wouldn't guess? We both know our housemates change opinions as often as they change their underwear. Every other week."

"Wizards really should learn to be a little more sanitary," she sniggers.

"Be glad you don't have to sleep in the boys' dormitory," I chuckle.

"Harry, you don't sleep in the boys' dormitory either. You have your own room."

"I had to put up with Ron's snoring for almost two years, haven't I? I earned that room," I sniff.

"But other boys our year haven't?"

"I am awesome. They, however, are not."

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 3: Potential**

 **November 28, 1994**

"Come in, Harry, sit," Dumbledore orders me kindly. "Would you like a lemon drop or a cup of tea?" He's sitting behind his desk with Snape and Moody behind him on either side like sentinels. Karkaroff is in front of the desk to the opposite of where the headmaster points for me to sit.

"No, thank you, professor. Why did you ask me here?"

He looks at me over his half-moon glasses pointedly but it's not him that answers my question. Instead, Karkaroff opens his face-rectum. "I think you know why you are here, _boy_. How dare you accuse me of nonsensical things?"

"And pray tell, what part of my accusations were nonsensical?" I ask dryly. "All I did was point out the inconsistencies with the points judges gave. I mean Krum deserved a ten, but I got a seven? Really?"

"You showed your cowardliness while my champion handled the challenge head on," he spits.

I can't help it, I laugh. "Oh, that's rich coming from you."

He looks at me with narrowed eyes. Moody gives me a small smile while Snape has his usual poker face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think we are getting sidetracked," Dumbledore cuts in before I can say anything.

"No, Albus, I believe we are not." I shake my head. "Tell me, Karkaroff, how is the arm? Does it itch where he branded you?" My tone reflects my disgust perfectly.

His eyes flash dangerously. "You know nothing of what you speak."

"Oh, but I know how many Death Eaters you named while pissing in your pants simultaneously." Moody laughs without a shame while Karkaroff looks like he smells bad cheese. "You, Death Eater Karkaroff, are a coward, not me. I am smart. Smart enough to avoid fighting a Dragon if I can. I am smart enough to beat your star student and every other champion in this tournament."

He wants to say something back but hesitates. Instead, he turns to Dumbledore. "Are you going to let this spoilt boy disrespect me, Albus? What kind of school are you running here?"

Albus looks at him piercingly. "I don't tell my students what to think or what to say, Igor. Surely, you can understand a young man's desire to respond to verbal attacks from adults," he says warningly.

"I won't let this stand!"

"What are you going to do? Judge me unfairly?" I laugh.

Karkaroff walks towards me. "It seems you need to be taught a lesson, boy," he spits threateningly.

I don't move at all. I raise both arms invitingly. "Go on, then. Teach me a lesson. I'm game if you are. Give me a time and a place and I will be there."

"That's enough," Albus interjects angrily. "Karkaroff, Harry may voice his opinions in any way he sees fit, even to criticise the judges of a tournament he's being forced to perform in. I will not have you threaten my student."

The coward turns to Albus. "This isn't over, Dumbledore," he warns and swiftly walks out of the office.

Albus sighs and leans back in his chair. "Harry, must you antagonise everyone you dislike?" he asks in a tired voice.

"I am not you, Albus. I don't have forgiveness to spare for liars, criminals and idiots who can't face the truth. We both now he was biased. Hell, he knows he was. I am being honest. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You must learn to be cautious, son. One day, you may anger someone you are not ready to handle," he warns me, knowing it won't change a thing.

I give a small, respectful bow, knowing the wisdom of his words even if I don't have it in me to hold my tongue. "Thank you for the advice."

"You can go now, Harry. Please take heed of my words."

"I'll try. Thank you, sir."

 **-HP-**

 **December 1, 1994**

"Did you watch them all?" asks Sirius as I walk in the classroom Albus assigned us for my training.

"I did."

"What do you think?"

"I looked awesome!" I jump up excitedly, a big grin on my face in celebration of my performance.

Remus rolls his eyes and pushes me to a chair. "He's asking about the other champions."

"Well, Viktor is fast. He will be hard to pin down. Cedric and Aimee won't be too much of a problem to deal with. Fleur didn't really show her potential. Britt will be the real challenge though. She has a wide repertory and most experience," I summarise.

"We knew these things already, Harry. We are trying to teach you how to read your opponent. Tell me, what move they will make? What style they will favour? Which ones are more likely to dodge than to shield? Who will make the first move?" Sirius asks.

I think about it for a second. "Well, Viktor is self-assured. He wants to win, and he wants to prove he's the best. He will definitely prefer attacking first and using flashy spells instead of effective ones."

"Good," Sirius says, nodding. "What about the girl from Durmstrang?"

"She's a fighter through and through. I bet she can give you guys a hard time. If I want to win against her, I have to surprise her. I'm not sure what else there is to say."

"She has a good grip on her wand," Remus comments. "Her wand movement had no useless motion, and she didn't use a spell she knew would be ineffective. She relied fully on hexes and curses though. Didn't use transfiguration or charms at all. What does that tell you?"

"That she will do something similar in the duel. She's not good at thinking on her feet, though she probably knows how to build quick, three-step plans. Like I said, I'll have to keep her off balance."

"Yes." Sirius nods. "What about the French beauties?"

"Hey there, now. They are too young for you and you know it." I raise an eyebrow and smile sweetly.

"Harry, focus," Sirius says all too seriously.

Some people can't take a joke I guess.

"Okay, okay. Fleur moves like she's walking on water, swiftly but delicately balanced which means if I create an uneven ground, I can sweep her off her feet." It's all can do at the moment. I can't help it if I was too distracted by Fleur's... Anyway, I was too distracted to really analyse Fleur's style.

"That's good but not enough. Come on, Harry. What did you see in the pensieve?" Sirius asks me with a growl.

"I don't know, okay. I was too distracted," I confess.

Sirius and Remus look at me oddly for a second before laughing.

"It's not funny," I shout embarrassedly. "She's just so... I don't know."

"So, you still not over what happened after your birthday?" Sirius asks me with a smile.

"I... Yes, I'm not. Happy?" I concede. "I can't stop thinking about her."

Sirius regards me for a second. "Harry, when a young man reaches a certain age, he gets these urges..." he begins before laughing again. I can see Remus is fighting a losing battle.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you guys?"

"Yeah, like ten minutes after Fleur left," Sirius says while laughing intermittently.

"Well, I hate you so much saying it once is just not enough."

Remus is the first to return to normal. "How is that going?"

"Not good. She rarely acknowledges my existence in public. But when we are alone, she's sweet," I answer truthfully. "Even human. She acts like a real person without the observers. I asked her out. She said no."

Remus looks at me sadly. "It happens, kid. You win some, lose some."

"Yeah," Sirius says with a nod. "You should forget about her and find a new girl for yourself. What was the name of that girl in Gryffindor? The one who can ride a broom really well?"

"You really need to get your mind out of the gutter, Sirius," I suggest. "Katie. Her name is Katie."

"Why don't you date her? From what you said, she seems to like you a lot."

"Katie is great. She's just not..."

"Yeah, I get it." Sirius sighs.

"Enough about my love life, you sad, old men. How about your love lives?" I ask with a grin.

"I'm not going to discuss my love life with my godson," Sirius declares proudly.

"Because you don't have one," Remus points out with an innocent look.

Sirius looks at him like Remus betrayed him. "I was just too busy, you know."

We plunge into silence for a moment.

"Sirius, you know you don't have to put your life on hold on my account. It may have made sense to avoid a real relationship when I was small and my identity was a secret. I'm not small anymore and there is no secret to keep."

"I know, it's just..." he trails off.

"Yeah. Still, something to consider."

"Enough with the pouting, gentlemen," Remus says. "We are here to train Harry. Leave all that stuff for drinking night."

"Alright, where were we? Ah, yes. We'll discuss Fleur later. Tell me about Aimee."

 **-HP-**

 **December 3,1994**

I enter the classroom and dive to my left immediately when a purple spell flashes over my head. My wand is out and a Shield charm is on my lips before I can even take in my surroundings. Sirius is standing across the room with a maniacal smile on his face, the one that is always accompanied by pain and suffering for me.

I glance around for Remus but can't find him. Still, the smile on Sirius' face is far too sadistically for the werewolf to be away so I snap three stunners in my godfather's general direction as I move to the far wall of the room in quick strides.

The old dog responds with a pair of cutting hexes a few inches apart from each other but a summoned desk allows me to stand my ground without having to hunker behind a shield. The table breaks into three pieces and I banish a piece to Sirius while levitating the other two in case Remus joins the fray mid-cast.

Sirius blasts apart the large piece of wood in bound for his head and banishes the splinters back at me but I use the opportunity to create a wind to throw the pieces every which way. My move pays off in a barely audible ruffling of clothes from my left and three birds leave my wand immediately.

Before I can see the affects of my birds, a forest green spell hurries towards my midsection, forcing my attention back to the man responsible. The second large piece of wood takes care of the green spell but burns away and leaves me with no debris to use so I snap a generic chain of four spells to buy myself time.

Meanwhile, Remus turns visible thanks to one of my birds explosion upon hitting the invisibility cloak he's wearing, giving it a bright red hue. I consider summoning the cloak for a moment but decide against it as it hinders him more than it protects. What I need to do is bring them together so I don't have to worry about spells coming from two different directions but I fail to come up with something on the spot.

Remus joins the fray for the first time as Sirius expertly shields against my chain and sends a large stream of water my way. It takes but an errant thought for my last wooden shield to take the burnt- hah! Get it? Burnt- of the conjured water and I use the added weight to my advantage by transfiguring it into a dozen steel balls and banishing them to the yellow man.

Thanks to the distraction by Remus, I barely see the stunner and blasting jinx coming my way from the other side of the room and drop myself to the ground, the jinx singing my hair. I conjure a thin dome of ice around me as I roll on the ground and blast it away to all sides as I rise, forcing both my opponents to dodge and follow it with a fire whip as I twirl it around me.

My strategy keeps them on defensive for a moment longer but I made a tactical error when I dodged Sirius' two spells as I am now surrounded on opposite sides and I fail to keep up with spells on both sides for two minutes before a weak cutting hex splashes against my left leg, costing me my balance and the duel when a disarming charm slams against my chest.

I lay on the ground, panting as Sirius and Remus fix the room as much as they can after the damage the environment suffered. Neither of them look as tired as I am but I've come to accept that. Both have more experience than me, and they are more efficient in their casting. Still, I fought well against two older opponents who work well as a team and have come a long way from that first day of training.

Sirius pulls up a chair next to me and sits with a small smile on his face. "You did well."

It's rare for Sirius to praise my duelling, and not because I am bad at it but because he has high expectations of me. And it's easy to understand why when compared to how quickly I progress in Charms and Transfiguration. Duelling doesn't come as natural as those two pursuits, I guess, and I'm okay with that. I find the challenge exhilarating as I have to work doubly hard to improve myself.

"Before you say anything, I know it was a mistake to place myself in the middle. I should have considered where I would end up and cast a shield or taken the blasting hex to my left hand and used the opening you left to take you out."

Remus draws a chair on my other side, a gentle smile on his face as he looks down on me. "Both viable options," he agrees with a nod. "Which would have given you the best chance at winning?"

I consider for a moment before answering. "Depends on how fast Sirius would react to my sudden onslaught of spells. _If_ I had taken the spell and failed to take Sirius out of the fight, it would have cost me my balance and would hinder my defence."

"True," Sirius agrees. "There is one other option you haven't considered still."

I glance at both men to get a clue on what other option I could have taken but their faces give me nothing. "I've not got the slightest."

"You could have redirected both spells towards either me or Remus. They were simple spells you have a good grasp on. I doubt you'd have trouble redirecting them given enough time."

Huh. That's… a great idea and now, I'm cursing myself for never having considered such a thing before. Still, you take the win; you take the loss; and you learn from them both.

"Then I'll be sure to kick both your arses the next time," I say, a cocky smile on my face, marred only by the obvious exhaustion. Sirius laughs while Remus raises a silent eyebrow at my bravado.

"Yeah, you do that, kiddo."

 **-HP-**

 **December 4, 1994**

"At least tell me you are studying."

The discussion is once again how irresponsible I am being by refusing to attend classes. Discussion may not be the right word here. It's more like Hermione is lecturing me on merits of learning while Ron beats me in chess.

"I am, Hermione. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

"I still can't believe Professor Dumbledore is okay with this." It's easy to see how much the idea is puzzling to her from the cute frown on her face.

"Hermione, if I go to classes, compete in this tournament and train with Sirius and Remus, I'd burn out in a month. You know what happens when I am overwhelmed."

"I know, I know. It's just... you will fail your O. if you don't learn the fourth year material," she croaks, her eyes wide in irrational fear. Need I remind you that this is the same girl that once said we would get killed, or worse... expelled?

I can see how upsetting the possibility is to Hermione and can't help the warmth spreading across my chest. This is the height of Hermione's love, these lectures and rants. They are the only way she knows how to deal with anxiety for my sake.

"Relax. I can pass O. in Transfiguration, Charms, and DADA even in my sleep. I learn nothing in History of Magic anyhow. I regularly attend Runes and Arithmancy. That leaves Herbology, Potions, Astronomy and Magical Creatures. I don't care if I pass or fail in Potions, Astronomy and Herbology. I can study extra next year for Magical Creatures. Pawn to G6."

"What do you mean you don't care if you pass your O. ?" she shrieks.

Oh, boy. I can feel another lecture coming. "I don't. I will not take the N.E.W.T levels for them anyway. I have no interest in either of them so why bother?"

"Gah!" is her response.

"Good argument, Hermione." Ron grins. "Riveting, really. Bishop to G6. Checkmate, mate."

Yeah, I lost. What a surprise. "Must you make the same joke every time you win?" I groan.

"Yes, I must," he informs me seriously before we both laugh. "Another?"

I look at him stupidly. "No, I think losing twice in a row is enough for me."

"Hey, Neville." The redhead turns to the boy who is reading a book on Herbology with undivided attention.

"No," Neville grunts without even looking up from the book.

"You guys are no fun," Ron complains loudly.

"Forget about chess for a second, Ron. What are you going to do about the Yule Ball?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you are going to have to ask someone to be your date. Do you have a girl in mind or are you going to wait for someone with right bits to fall on your lap?"

"I dunno, the second option seems optimal. How about you? Are you going to ask Fleur like you said you would?" He gives me a wicked grin, knowing how much I feel conflicted on the subject.

I glare at him but answer. "I will."

Hermione sits on the armrest of the single chair I'm sitting and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Harry, are you sure that's a good idea? She told you she'd say no," she says, her voice is soft and kind and something else that puts me on edge.

Pity, really? It's not like getting rejected is the end of the world. Yes, I may be more than a little hung up on her but that doesn't mean I'd roll over and cry just because she said no.

"If she says no, I won't bother her again. And when she realises what a catch I am, she'll have to come to me," I boast vainly. She gawks at me and we share a laugh at the prospect of the haughty girl acting so out of character. "I found someone I like, Hermione. I have to try."

"Just... I don't get what you see in her," she blurts.

"I can," Ron interjects. "What? She's gorgeous." He doesn't even realise it when Hermione glares at him.

"She's also a cold, stuck-up b... witch," Hermione says in a clipped tone.

"Nice save." Ron nods.

"What about you, Hermione? Any boy you want to ask or get asked by?"

"Well... yes." Aw. Her cheeks are all red. My girl is growing up on me.

There is an awkward silence among us for a second or two where Hermione tries to turn invisible but the blood rushing to her face works to the opposite end. "Well, I wouldn't get my hopes up on that idiot. You know how emotionally constipated he can be," I hint, but said emotionally constipated redhead doesn't get it.

Shocker.

Hermione glares at me suspiciously. "You should stop talking now, I think," she grunts out between her teeth.

I smile at her innocently. "Why?"

"Because if you don't, I am going to disfigure you so bad, Fleur won't touch you with a ten foot stick." She scowls and not-so-gently massages my shoulders with her freakishly strong hands.

"I'll shut up now," I croak. She can be a little intimidating when she's upset and I'm conflicted on how I feel about Hermione being stronger than me to be honest. It's a blow to my fragile masculinity. Maybe I should carry a small library on my back as a workout?

"How about you, Neville? Who are you going to ask?" Ron queries. Neville looks around for a second, looking unsure where he is for a moment before turning to Ron.

"I'm not sure." What the shy boy wants is clear by the glance he not-so-subtly throws at Ginny who is in deep conversation with some girl… Rom… Romania or something. That girl gives me the creeps.

"Ron, let me ask you something," I cut in. "Ginny is growing up. She'll start dating boys soon. Who would you okay with her dating?"

Ron's cheeks redden and he looks at me heatedly. "She can't. She..."

"I mean, if she were my sister, I'd want her to date someone I trusted. Someone I knew would treat her well. Like you. Or Neville," I continue before Ron can spout something stupid and raises Hermione or Ginny's ire. "I mean think about it. Would you rather Ginny date someone like Seamus? Or someone like Neville?"

"I..."

"Neville, I think you should ask Ginny so she doesn't go with someone who might take advantage of her naivety." I wink at him.

"Yeah, please, mate," Ron says desperately. "Harry will ask Fleur and I'm not sold on blood purity enough to go down that road. You _have to_ ask her."

"Okay... I mean... Are you sure?" Neville looks shocked and unsure. "Okay. I'll ask her but I don't know if she'll say yes," he says more confidently when Ron nods.

Hermione leans in to whisper in my ear. "Teach me how to do that."

"It's a trade secret, Sis." She rolls her eyes at me. "I'll tell you if you ask Ron to the ball."

"Never mind."


	6. Episode V

**Chapter 1: One Ring to Bind Them**

 **December 6, 1994**

I walk down to the breakfast a little late today. Why you may ask. Because Sirius and Remus are evil men who like to hurt children. We've been training since the start of the school and lately, I've started to actually beat them in one-on-one duels.

Okay, I still lose more often than not but I get a win every three, four duels which is a big accomplishment for a boy my age. Both Sirius and Remus are top tier wizards amongst their age group, and I take pride in challenging them.

But do I get a 'well done, Harry'? Of course not. Instead, they both attack me and keep attacking me all day long mercilessly. Everything hurts. I want to find whoever suggested Remus that he should read Nietzsche and beat them senseless. What the fuck kind of motto is 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'?!

I won't even bother to understand why Remus would take Nietzsche seriously when the bastard would preach the righteousness of executing werewolves for purity of the wizard-kind.

Anyway, I should focus on the good side. Sirius is one of the best fighters there is and I can beat him, even sometimes, then I am progressing along rather well.

There is another reason for my lateness though. I couldn't sleep last night because of my nerves. Today, I will ask Fleur to be my date for the Yule Ball.

I don't understand why I am nervous. It's not like I haven't asked her out before though that was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe Sirius was right. Maybe I should just forget about it.

No. I will do this. I won't let anyone call me a coward. Even if that someone is me.

Fuck you, Potter, I'm not a coward!

Yes, I realise cursing yourself in third person is not what sane people do but like I told Cedric in the tent, sanity is overrated.

I walk into the great hall and spy Fleur sitting on the Ravenclaw table with Aimee and a brunette girl whose name I don't yet know. I thank my lucky stars for the empty seat on her right.

Speaking of lucky stars, I should ask Firenze if such a thing exists and which are mine.

Focus, Potter, and stop acting like a…

Go on, say it. I dare you.

Sigh. I need help.

I walk to the Ravenclaw table and sit down next to her. "Good morning Fleur, Aimee, the girl whose name I don't know but would like to find out," I greet them with a calm voice and a frantically beating heart.

Fleur stares at me searchingly. "Good morning, Harry. What are you doing here?"

I smile at her charmingly and conjure a single white jonquil and give it to her while doing the same with a single purple viscaria behind her ear. That second one is done wandlessly.

Yeah, I'm that cool.

Okay, honestly, it's not that hard. It's all about timing. If you have sufficient understanding of Transfiguration, you can cast it so it reverts to its original form in time. What I did here was time it close and cast a simple wandless Finishing charm. Because it was already on its way to reverting, it was possible for me to give it that little push it required wandlessly.

Oh, the flowers? I don't get why Sirius keeps mocking me for knowing the language of flowers. It's a wonderful thing, the symbology. This combination, for instance, is perfect for the occasion. Jonquil means a desire for returned affection. Viscaria is my way of asking 'will you dance with me?'

"Would you like to be my date to Yule Ball?" I ask her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she answers after a few seconds. She holds the jonquil for me to take.

"Keep it. I wasn't trying to buy your affection. If I may?" I ask and touch her middle finger when she nods. The jonquil turns to a cyclamen. 'Resignation.' "Enjoy your breakfast, ladies."

I get up to move to the Gryffindor table and notice the silence around the great hall. Wonderful. "What? Haven't you seen a guy get rejected by a beautiful woman before?" I shout. People start murmuring. I shrug and make my way to where Hermione is sitting with Neville and Ron. "Morning, minions."

Hermione looks at me indignantly while Ron looks uncomprehending. "Good morning, m'lord," Neville greets me back.

"I'm no one's minion," Hermione informs me haughtily. "If anything, I'm the dark lady and you are my minions."

"Hermione, there is no such a thing as a dark lady. Women can't lead. Everyone knows that," I lecture in a disapproving tone. "You need to be realistic about your goals. Find a nice man and get married. Don't worry unnecessarily about things like career and leadership."

I love Hermione. She knows I'm joking but she can't help rant with something she's passionate about.

Balzac cuts in from behind me before Hermione can start her rant. "I miss Dacia," he says sadly while sitting down.

"If you miss her, do what I do. Hermione can be as passionate as her about women's rights."

"When I say I miss her, I don't mean her ranting. I mean... Never mind. That's no topic for polite company," he clarifies. "Did you really ask Delacour to the Yule Ball?"

"What gave it away? Was it the flowers, the question or my loud comment afterward?"

"Just a gut feeling," he answers. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

I shrug. There is no use crying over spilled Felix Felicis. "It's life I guess. What are you going to do for Yule Ball? Are you going to go alone?"

"Why would I?"

"Because if you don't, Dacia may think it's a good idea to cut off your balls and feed them to you," I tell him wistfully. Now, that would be fun to watch.

"Oh, that's why!" His head bob up and down in exaggerated movements. "Actually, I won't be here for the Yule Ball. I'm having dinner with Dacia and her mother."

"Finally meeting the in-law?" I ask surprised. He answers with a confirming nod. "Be honest, how nervous are you? On a scale of one to ten."

"How would you rate 'every time I think about it, I feel like puking my guts out'?"

"I'd say there is more to it than just a dinner with her mother."

"You'd be right. I plan to ask her to marry me," he declares proudly.

I can feel my pupils widen as if to escape the confines of my irises. "No way! Good for you, man." I give him a manly hug. Yes, a manly hug. Shut up.

Wait, I can have fun with this. "But what if she says no? Or her mother doesn't like you and convinces her to dump you?" I ask in a low tone to add to the effect.

He gapes like a fish and I can barely hold it together. Hermione slaps me on my arm. "Harry. Stop messing with the poor boy's head. He's going to freak out."

I can't take it anymore, I laugh. My laughter doubles when he bellows, "You are an asshole."

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I'm thrilled for you," I say sincerely. "What are you going to do about the ring?"

He looks down. "Well, I was hoping you could make me one."

"It'd be my honour. You should know, my rings go for somewhere between a thousand and two thousand galleons on the market but I like you so I'll give you a discount. Nine hundred and ninety-nine galleons and sixteen sickles."

"What rings?"

"Well, I'm new to the market. This will be my first ring. Imagine that. You will have the first ring ever made by Harry James Potter," I boast. "Never mind that now," I say and take out my notepad. "Do you want just an engagement ring or do you want me to make you a matching set of wedding bands? Do you want a simple diamond or can I be creative with the stones? Do you want something simple and classy or something sophisticated?"

"Calm down, mate." Ron chuckles. "Breathe."

"Yes, you are right," I say, my cheeks redden. "I don't know why but my oestrogen levels are off the chart. I need to do something manly. Balzac, may I punch you in the face?"

"No, you may not. And to answer your question...s, I'll trust your judgment."

I take a deep breath. I don't know why I went crazy suddenly. I guess I'm happy for my friends. And frankly, I adore Balzac and Dacia's relationship. It is everything love should be and more.

I open my notepad and sketch the first idea that pops into my head. It's a ring that has seven gemstones. A large diamond in the middle surrounded by four small serendibite stones and two medium size amber stones. All seven stones sit on a six-pointed snowflake template with the diamond in the centre and the amber stones sit parallel to the band. For the metal, I think platinum.

For those of you wondering why the different stones, it is the custom in the Magical World and while Dacia holds on to her Muggle roots; she knows to appreciate Magical World's customs.

I show the design to Balzac and explain it. He nods with an open mouth. "That looks great."

"I'm thinking a modified Impervius charm, a location-fixed, a phrase-activated Portkey charm, an intend-based mild Muggle-Repelling charm, an Unbreakable charm, a Tracking charm, Anti-Summoning charm, and a Remind-Me charm for enchantments. What do you think?"

"What's a Remind-Me charm?" Balzac asks me.

"It's something I came up with. It's like an alarm you set to remind you something specific. Let's say you have an important meeting at three in the afternoon. You set it to two thirty and when the clock hits two thirty, you suddenly remember a pre-set sentence. I came up with it this year when I kept forgetting to practise Occlumency before sleeping."

"Well, all of them sound great."

"Are you sure you can do all that, Harry?" Hermione asks me skeptically.

"Nope," I say cheerfully. "I mean I can but the charms would wear off in a year at best. I still can't wave the charms together good enough to last. I know someone who can though."

I take my notepad and get up from my seat. Returning to the Ravenclaw table, I sit next to Fleur once again. "Sorry to bother you ladies but I need your help with enchanting a ring, Fleur." I beam at her.

Fleur groans. "Please tell me you are not planning on giving me a ring."

"My dear, I know it's every girl's dream to get a ring from me but I don't think we are at that stage in our burgeoning relationship yet. Wouldn't you agree?" I chirp. "No, a friend of mine plans to ask his special lady-friend to marry him and asked me to craft the engagement ring. I have the design ready but, as I said, I am not great with Enchantments so I thought 'why not go to the expert?'"

"You make rings?" Aimee queries unbelievingly.

"This will be my first time but I can make pretty much anything. I have a great sense of aesthetics and am prodigious in Transfiguration. Fleur, you remember my temple? I made almost everything in that room myself," I boast.

"Everything? Even the instruments?" Fleur asks curiously.

"No, I bought those, but that sounds like a fun summer project. I should look into it this summer." I look up as I consider the possibilities. "A magical musical instrument? Now, that's an idea."

All three girls, Fleur, Aimee and their friend who I don't know, look at me like I'm an alien.

"What makes you think I'm such an expert?" she challenges.

"You hinted that your mother is an enchanter. You are also knowledgeable about Enchantments yourself. You are great with charms, perhaps even better than me. Thus an enchanter," I lecture. "Here is the ring design." I put the notepad on the table and show her.

Fleur examines the sketch, her fingers grazing the lines. "This is magnificent."

I feel a giggle coming and I stop it mercilessly. I'm not a schoolgirl with a crush. I'm a boy. Eh, man. Whatever.

"I know."

Aimee loses the battle to her curiosity and leans over Fleur to get a look. "You can ask me to marry you anytime with a ring like this," she jokes.

"I might," I sing with a wink. I tell them about the stones and the metal I plan to use. "So, what do you think, Fleur? Are you up for this?"

"What kind of charms do you want?" the blonde goddess asks so I tell her. I explain the Remind-Me charm as well when they ask. "So, one charm per stone?"

"I thought anchoring each charm to a single stone would work better than using a single frame and locking it with a representative rune would increase efficiency."

"Well, you'll have to teach me the Remind-Me charm but I can do it." She frowns and gives me a narrow-eyed look. "You do know I must charm the stones as you place them on the metal if you want the magic to take hold on the ring itself instead of just the stones?"

"I know. I can prepare everything for the enchanting for this Sunday."

"Sure. Find me when you are ready."

"Great. How long do you think it would take?"

She bites her lower lip in thought, causing a boy a table over faint and my heart rate increase. That look is the embodiment of the word 'sexy'. "A little over two hours, I think."

"How about my room on Gryffindor tower? We'll have privacy." She nods in agreement. "Wonderful. Thank you, Fleur. Ladies, always a pleasure."

I return to my friends and sit down next to Balzac. "Fleur agreed. I think I'll be able to deliver your ring next Monday if I can convince Sirius to take me shopping."

"How much will it cost?" Balzac asks me apprehensively.

"Don't worry about that. This will be my engagement gift to you. The bands will be my wedding gift but I'm going to need Dacia's input for those so there is no need to hurry. Besides, I don't want to make them now in case Dacia says no," I say with a grin.

"Asshole."

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

 **-HP-**

 **December 11, 1994**

It's been fun five days. Shaping the ring's metal and the stones were a lot harder than I thought it would be. Because I had to work with precision where a sixteenth of an inch can mess up everything, I wasted a ton of good material.

It was great.

I spent yesterday engraving the necessary runes on the side of the stones I will stick to the ring. When enchanting, weaving the charms to runes is always a plus. Here, it's a little redundant because the gemstones are already susceptible to magic but redundancy is good.

The engraving was difficult. I couldn't enlarge the stones because that would mess with their composition. Think about it for a second. I had to engrave runes on a surface smaller than a sixteenth of an inch. Muggles use lasers for this stuff. I had to use my wand because, let's be honest, spending tens of thousands of pounds on a professional machine is not logical.

Fine, I couldn't convince Sirius to part with so much money on a whim.

The machine wouldn't work in Hogwarts, anyway, so instead, I ordered heavy iron plates that were cut in the shapes of the runes and charmed them to be heat resistant. Just so I'll have them ready in case I ever need them, and because metal sheets are not expensive, I ordered one for every rune I know.

Another difficulty was determining Dacia's ring size. I thought about using an Auto-Sizing charm but decided against it. That is just too… impersonal, and it'd mess with other charms I want the ring to have. So, I went to the headmaster and used his pensive. Creative, right?

Metal work was hard too. Transfiguring a metal is always difficult. Especially metals like gold, silver, bronze, platinum, cobalt. I had to heat the platinum to a thousand degrees to allow for easier and more precise Transfiguration. Safe to say, I had to drink a lot of water, a lot.

It really was a fun week. This is the stuff I live for.

Right now, I'm looking for Fleur so I could get her to my room. Yeah, I wish I could get her to my room for different reasons too. No, I don't mean sex. Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean so I can watch her play the violin again. And sex.

I find her eating lunch with her usual two friends in Great Hall and make my way there. "Hello, ladies," I greet them.

"Hi, Harry," Aimee and the third girl whose name I recently learned is Samantha chorus. Fleur only nods.

"Well, Fleur, the ring is ready for you to do your magic whenever you are ready." Fleur nods and focuses back on her food.

Is it me or is she colder than usual?

"Are you okay?" I ask her in a low voice. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine."

I don't think she's being honest with me. She's glaring at her food like the food killed her children and she wants sweet revenge.

I sigh. "We can do this some other time if you prefer. Or if you changed your mind, I can pay someone to do it even."

Aimee cuts in before she can answer. "Boys have been asking her to the ball nonstop for days."

"Yeah, I can see how... annoying that would be. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if me asking you out bothered you."

"No," she responds a little too fast and I smother a smile. "Yours was sweet actually. The others, they all thought making a grand gesture would be a good idea. Like punching someone. Or making a ton of flower petals rain down. Or singing. Or yelling. Or reading me a poem. One even tried to give me a ring."

Merlin, I thought she was being dramatic when she asked if I was going to give her a ring. People do that?

I can help it, I laugh. She looks at me crossly. "I'm sorry. It's just... Man, this school is filled with idiots." Aimee and Samantha chuckle as well. "You'll have to excuse my countrymen for their lack of sense. What about you two lovely ladies? Do you have dates or is every male in this school stupid enough to let you two stay single?"

"Why? Do you plan on asking one of us?" Aimee jokes, making her eyebrows dance.

"Nah. After the brutal rejection from five days ago, I became celibate," I quip. "I already landed myself a date, thank you very much," I answer, for real this time, when they look at me weirdly.

"I already have a date," Aimee informs me.

"If you don't have a date, Samantha, I have a friend who is emotionally constipated and is in the market for some clean fun. He's tall, not bad looking, funny and can understand women as much as a smart four-years-old can understand quantum tunnelling effect."

"I don't need leftovers, thank you very much," she clips.

"He's not that bad, really. He's average looking and fun. Actually, he's the one that tried to yell Fleur into dating him." I give a small laugh. "It's your call, though. I won't stick my neck out for him on this. Just thought I could help."

"I'll take my chances but thank you," she responds, less angrily this time.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to your lunch," I say and move to get up but am stopped by Fleur's hand on my arm.

"What about the ring?"

"Are you sure you want to do it today? We can work on it some other time."

"I'm sure. It sure will be better than spending the whole day rejecting my would-be suitors."

I giggle on the inside. She prefers spending time with me to other boys asking her out. I then groan on the inside. I should stop acting like this. It's unbecoming.

"Okay. If you'll follow me, my lady, I'll be happy to take you to my room." I give her a cheeky grin.

"You know this is not a date or anything of the sorts, right?" She glares at me.

"I know. I told you I'd ask you one last time, and I did, Fleur. I have no intention of chasing after you like a stalker," I remind her. "If anything will happen between us, you will have to be the one to make a move."

Her nose rises up a notch. "I wouldn't hold my breath."

"I won't. I may like you, a lot, but I will not waste my time waiting for you. Life is too beautiful and short to live at the mercy of another."

We walk silently for a while. "Why do you like me?" she blurts out. "I mean it's obvious you are not too affected by my charm so it's not about my beauty. Why?"

"I'm not really sure. I think it's because how emotional you are," I guess. "You don't show it but I can feel the storm that's inside you. There is anger in you, and sadness, and loneliness, and love. You are like me in a sense; you feel a lot," I add when she looks at me quizzically.

"Consider all of our encounters so far. In all of them, you first greeted me coldly but warmed up slowly," I explain. "It's not what I see when you are cold. I like the part you show when you are warm."

I lead her to the seventh floor but we turn to the corridor on the right when we come up to the fat lady instead of going in. When we get to the painting with an old man with a wig, I give my password, 'artis de cor'.

We climb the stairs silently and enter the room through the second entrance. This door was built so past the head of Gryffindor house could leave their private chambers without having to go through dozens of students. You can also enter it from inside the common room.

It's a nice perk to have if I ever need to bring a girl here without the hassle of the common room, like now.

She surveys the room interestedly. "This is quite similar to your temple," she points out.

She's right. The circular room is furnished in a similar design to my room in France. Instead of a wall filled with books, I have a small wooden bookcase on the left side of the room next to an ornate mahogany table. On the opposite of the table, I have my piano, a violin and a guitar. The opposite to the entrance is a double four-poster bed. There is a large coffee table in the centre and around it are two chairs, my various knick-knacks and a wooden easel.

Like the temple, everything in this room, except the instruments, some painting supplies, a cooling box and clothes, I made myself.

"I know. Figured if it works why change it."

"It's beautiful," she compliments. "Do all Hogwarts students get their own room?" she asks me as we sit on the middle table.

"No. Only the head boy and girl, and me."

"What's special about you? I mean, yes, you are talented but that's no reason to give you a special treatment."

I consider being honest but decide against it. "That's something I'd rather not answer," I plead. "That's Puck," I say, pointing at the Raiju sleeping inside a small wooden basket. "He's the most awesome familiar ever."

"He's cute."

"He doesn't like it when people call him cute. He likes to think himself as scary." I show her the rings and the stones. "What do you think?"

"Good work," she compliments. "You really are good at this."

"Thank you." See, I can be humble. "I made extra of everything in case we make a mistake. I'll use the leftover material to make gifts for the ladies in my life."

"Ladies? I thought you were single?" Fleur asks me, a little threateningly. A part of me wishes it was jealousy but I guess she thinks I cheated on someone with her.

"I am. Who I mean by ladies are Hermione, who is like a sister; Minerva, who is the Transfiguration Professor and an honorary aunt; and Poppy, who is the school healer and the only woman to see me naked other than you."

"I was your first?" I feel a little proud that she's surprised as it tells me good things about my performance.

"I'm fourteen, for Merlin's sake. Of course, you were my first," I chuckle. "Why? Was I that good?"

SAY YES!

"You were okay, I guess." Blood rushes to her cheeks and adds to her beauty. How can someone so beautiful can become even more so? It's unfair to the rest of the world.

"You guess?"

She looks away, the blush on her face intensifying. "I have had little experience," she admits in a small voice.

I nod at that. "That makes sense."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asks indignantly. Her head rises up and she looks at me like I smell awful.

I can't help smile at how quick she can go through emotions.

"Well, you said most men can't string together an intelligent sentence around you. You are cold towards people you don't know well. It makes sense that you haven't shared that much intimacy with many people, especially men."

"Sorry, I get..."

"Defensive. I understand. It must be hard to feel judged by the masses all the time. Hell, I've been feeling that for only two months, if you discount my second year, and I'm about to go crazy. I can't imagine how it must be like to go through life under the spotlight."

We hold each other's gaze in silence for a while. "So, why were you surprised that I was your first?" I ask when the silence becomes too charged.

She gives me a small smile in understanding. "You weren't overexcited like how I assume a teenager about to have sex for the first time would be."

"Believe me, I was. From the moment I sat next to you, I kept repeating to myself 'be cool, be cool'," I confess. "You were my first kiss. Before the club, I had dinner with Balzac and two other friends from Beauxbatons. Balzac joked about how since I became fourteen that day, I should start noticing girls. I guess he was right." I am laughing by the end.

Her melodious laughter joins mine. "Is that what happened?"

"Okay, this is getting weird. I refuse to discuss my hormonal development with you," I inform her with a shake of my head.

"Why not? Are you turning shy on me suddenly?" she mocks me. I smile at her uplifted mood.

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, "do you really want to discuss my masturbation habits and such things?"

She sobers up. "No. That's a good point." She points to the ring materials. "How about we work on the ring?"

And we do that. We spend the next hour working. She charms a stone; I apply a little blood I got from Balzac on the rune with a syringe and place the stone on the ring just as she finishes the chant for the stone and apply a permanent sticking charm. This is blood magic, so it's on the edge of legality but what the government doesn't know, they can't punish.

 **-HP-**

"I think we deserve a break and a drink," I offer after we finish the third stone.

She leans back in her chair and stretches. That move draws my eyes to her chest. I can't help it. She's just so... "Sorry. When you did that, your blouse got... Sorry."

She smiles warmly at me. "Don't worry. It happens to every young man."

"Well, it's not my fault you have a nice body, now, is it?" I smile back.

"Nice body? That's like saying lake is a little moist, don't you think?" She waves a hand as if to say look at this work of art.

I take good advantage of the nonverbal offer, of course. I am a hot-blooded male. Merlin, those curves, those two… Focus, Harry!

"Let me rephrase that. Your body is as nice as your ego is big." She shakes her head with a smile. It's nice to see her without the walls and I must be doing something right for her not to feel upset over it. "What would you like to drink?"

I get up and move to the cooler. It was Sirius' idea to give me this. All I had to do was point out how often he will be in the castle and how he might need a cold 'drink'. I may have had to point out how cute Professor Sinatra is, forgetting to mention the beautiful woman takes her pleasure in other female forms.

"What do you have?"

"I have coke, butterbeer, real beer, wine, fire-whiskey, real whiskey, gin. I can also make us tea or coffee if you prefer something hot."

"Do you serve food as well?" she quips.

"Dobby." Dobby pops in.

"Yes, master Harry Potter sir. What can Dobby dos for you, Harry Potter sir?"

"Please, oh, please stop calling me sir or master. Dobby, you are a free elf. Act like one. Remember what I said? How can you expect other people to treat you with respect if you don't respect yourself?"

"I forgot." Dobby looks down.

"It's okay, Dobby. You'll learn in time."

"What can I dos for you, ma- Harry James?"

I sigh. That's something I guess. "Can you bring us some sandwiches, please? And some food for Puck."

He snaps his fingers and a tray full of sandwiches, a bowl of fruits and a bowl full of small fishes appear. Puck wakes up instantly and attacks the fish. I turn around to tell Dobby that the tray is too much, but he's long gone.

"I was joking," Fleur says. "I ate just an hour ago."

"I know. When you mentioned food, I realised how hungry I was. I skipped lunch and breakfast. Now, drink?"

"Is wine any good?" she asks me.

"No clue. I'm fourteen, remember?" I smile at her. "Though I doubt it's bad. Sirius claims to have good taste in drinks."

"I'll risk it."

"Living on the edge? I like it." I laugh.

"Hey! Wine is important," she says indignantly.

I pour her a large glass and get a bottle of coke for myself. "Right. You are French."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She glares at me warningly.

"Nothing. I know how picky French people are about wine and food," I answer with a puppy eyes.

"It's better than eating that garbage you Englishmen call food and drinking that god awful orange thing," she shots back.

"Hey, I may be British but I grew up in France. I'd like to think I embody the best parts of both cultures," I say with my head held high.

She responds with a chuckle. God, it's impossible for me not to be proud every time I earn that sound. It's a beautiful, beautiful sound.

She takes a sip of the wine and nods. "Not bad." She looks at me weirdly as I sit down. "You have a weird relationship with your house-elf."

"Did you not hear what I said? He's not my house-elf. He's a free elf. He was Malfoy family elf before I tricked dear old Lucius to free him. He's having a hard time adjusting, but he is a proud little fella and a good friend."

"I never knew house-elves wanted to be free."

I shrug. "Some do, some don't, I guess. Hermione is going on and on about freeing them but the elves here hate her for it. It all depends on the elf and the treatment they receive, I reckon."

We sit in silence while I eat but it's not awkward. "Tell me, what does Fleur Delacour dream of when she lies awake at night? What do you want to do when you grow up?" I ask in-between bites.

She hums thoughtfully before answering. "I want to be an enchantress like my mother."

"Is it because you want to be like her or because you genuinely enjoy it?" I want to know more about her. It doesn't matter that she won't be mine. I'll take what I can get and I have no problem admitting that.

"Because I enjoy it. My mother... Well, let's say we don't have the best relationship," she confides.

"Let me guess, she's controlling and demanding?"

She laughs. "That's putting it mildly. How did you guess?"

"The way you act, walk and talk in public is not natural to you. It's a learned skill. I first thought you do it because of the way men behave around you but you do it grudgingly. There is a resentment to the whole act that isn't _only_ directed at the masses."

She finishes her glass in one go. I summon the bottle and pour her another glass.

"Did you do wandless magic like it is nothing?" she asks me incredulously. Good change of subject though.

I laugh at her expression. "How many times do I have to say it? I am awesome. Just roll with it."

"That's it? You are awesome?" She takes another large sip.

"I've been doing wandless magic since I was five. It's not much, but it's helpful," I tell her with a shrug.

"You are confusing."

"Why?"

"You say you are awesome and then you act like being able to do wandless magic is nothing."

"Because it is not useful. It helps me do parlour tricks, and it's nice not having to get up to get a drink but in the end, it doesn't serve a purpose. I like doing things with a purpose. With meaning. Magic is much more than a tool to allow us to be lazier."

"Like with the flowers?"

"Yes, exactly."

"It was a nice trick, transfiguring the jonquil to a cyclamen."

I lean back and smile. "It wasn't transfiguration. It was a switching spell. I had the cyclamen ready."

She tilts her head to the side. "You were ready for rejection?"

I shrug. "I expected it. You said your answer wouldn't change. I had no reason to doubt your word."

"Why would you ask me if you knew I would say no?"

"Because I liked you and I wasn't going to let a little thing like the knowledge your likely rejection stop me."

She looks at me curiously. "Liked. So, you don't like me anymore?"

I give her a look that said 'don't be stupid'. "I am working on it."

"Working on it? Just like that?"

I gaze at her searchingly. She sounded a little disappointed there. "You rejected me twice, Fleur. Three times if you count the morning after we had sex. You can't call that 'just like that'. I did my part. You made it clear you are not interested. It would be stupid of me to… encourage whatever it is I'm feeling towards you."

This time, the silence is awkward and I don't like it. Change of the subject is necessary.

"Well, if you want to be an enchantress, this is a good start. This ring will be the talk of Beauxbatons this year."

"Beauxbatons? Are you making the ring for... Pierro?"

That pause tells just how much she cuts herself off from her peers. She has a hard time even remembering their names and Balzac Pierro is a recognisable fella, what with his height and general demeanour.

"Yes. He's planning on asking Dacia to marry him at the end of this month," I confirm with a nod. "Please tell no one. I'd hate to ruin his surprise."

"Don't worry. I won't."

I finish eating and lean back. "This is a good opportunity for you. Like I said, the ring will be the talk amongst the girls of Beauxbatons and if the boys want to impress them, they must open their pouches."

"I didn't make the ring." She puts both her feet on the chair and hugs her legs with one arm while sipping from her glass.

"It doesn't matter. Most of them can't afford me anyway," I brag cockily.

She tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

"I am obsessive with doing this kind of stuff. I have to have the best. I have to do things just right. I have to have the right material," I answer in one breath. "The materials for this ring cost me four thousand pounds. That's three hundred galleons. If I was to sell it, I wouldn't accept less than a thousand galleons and that's what an average wizard makes in a year."

She looks at me with wide eyes. "How rich is Balzac if he can afford this?"

"I'd never take money from my friends. This is a gift."

"Just how rich are you then?"

"Don't know, don't care. That's not the point, anyway. You can have two sets of jewellery makers. You can get cheaper jewellery from a muggle jeweller for your average customer. For those willing to part with their gold, you can come to me or go to a muggle designer. There aren't a lot of places people can buy enchanted jewels."

She mulls it over for a long time. "It's a good idea."

I scoff at her. "Damn right, it's a good idea. I never have bad ideas."

Her wine glass is once again empty so I full it.

She smiles. "I'm curious. Are you arrogant or joking?"

"It depends on what I talk about. When I say I'm great at something seriously, I usually mean it. But when I say things like 'I never have bad ideas', it's a joke. I am a guy who thought going after a Basilisk was a great idea, remember?"

"You say things like that often. Sometimes I think you mean it, sometimes I'm sure you don't. It's confusing," she admits.

Puck walks over climbs up my leg and sprawls over my lap. I love it when he does that. His purring is so relaxing.

"That's part of the reason I do it though," I tell Fleur. "You have to understand since I was a child, I've been told people are out to hurt me. People like Lucius Malfoy. I've been in this school for four years and trouble keeps finding me. If my enemies don't know what I'm capable of, they are bound to either underestimate me or overestimate me. I have a lot of secrets."

She looks at me unbelievingly. "What secrets?"

"If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets now, would they?" I raise my left eyebrow. "I told you one when we first met, though. Everyone thought I was a Black by birth. I only told you I was adopted."

"Tell me another one," she urges. "Everyone knows who you really are now."

I consider what I can tell her. I can tell her I am an animagus but that has legal implications and it can be a way to escape out of a tight situation. Considering Voldemort wants to kidnap me, it's a wise move to keep that a secret.

I definitely can't tell her about my second wand, the one I carry on my necklace. That, Albus told me, will be a useful weapon if I ever have to fight Voldemort or if I am ever disarmed in a dangerous situation. Besides, it's frowned upon to carry two wands.

I can't tell her about the necklace itself and what I carry on it. It's a wonderful work of enchantment by Albus himself and is for dire emergencies only. Because I am not allowed to reveal its existence without a just cause, I mostly can't use my invisibility cloak and that's a shame, really. Though with the way Albus allows me more freedom than a regular student, I don't really need to sneak around.

I have other secrets as well but most of them, I can't share because they are not mine alone to share.

I can tell her about my tattoos though, and the stories and meaning behind each of them.

What I plan to share is not a secret, but the stories associated with the tattoos on my back are mysterious enough. The lives I took. They are a part of me I wish I didn't have but still; I carry them with pride. They are my choices and my struggles; my victories and triumphs.

"How about I tell you a story about one tattoo of your choosing?"

She nods so I stand, causing Puck to show his displeasure with his claws though the pain is easy to ignore. I take off my shirt and turn around so she can see them. She stands, moving around the table to get a good look. I shiver at when a finger graze my back and repress the urge to turn around and steal a kiss.

"The snake," she requests, her finger caressing the said tattoo on my back.

"That's a good one. Remember what I told you about petrified students?" I take her silence as confirmation and tell her the story, glossing over the parts with Voldemort.

"You were bitten by a Basilisk? So that article was true?" she asks me in a charged tone, somewhere between unbelieving and troubled.

"Yeah. All of that article was true. Well, mostly true. There were a lot of details that were kept out." I turn around and notice just how close we are. Her hand doesn't leave my body but instead travels to my chest with my movement. "Touch the basilisk's mouth. You can feel the wound."

She does what I say and finds the inch wide puncture wound. She's so close can smell the wondrous and mouth watering combinations of flowers that always accompanies her.

This will not end well for me.

After checking it and rechecking it, her hand doesn't live my arm and I look up to see her eyes on me with an emotion I can't identify.

She looks so damn kissable with her wide, blue eyes and parted pink lips. Resisting the temptation is far too hard but I am stubborn. We stand there, gazing into each other's eyes for some time. I make no move, afraid that it'll make her move away. I want to stand here like this until my legs give out and then stand more even if I have to cast a Binding charm on my legs.

Her eyes move to my lips and back, and she's a little closer. I still make no move. I'm a man of my word. I won't chase after her no matter how much I want to kiss her.

She moves closer still and my hands find her hips. It feels like she wants me to kiss her. I'm pretty sure. I still don't kiss her.

She kisses me.

My mind turns to mush. I can't think straight. Is this what I have to do to be good at Occlumency?

Kiss her, dammit!

I kiss her back. My hands travel up her spine a little. She tastes like paradise and I never want to taste anything else.

She breaks off the kiss and leans her forehead on mine as we both gasp for air. My hand moves to her cheek out of its own accord and caresses her beautiful face. I look into her eyes and lose my breath at the passion and beauty I see.

I don't want the moment to end, ever. I don't want to be anywhere but here, in this moment. But I have to know. "Will you run off again when the day ends?"

She takes a deep breath. I can see something I can't identify shining in her eyes. "I will."

I want to ask so many things. Why? Why would she kiss me if she won't acknowledge it tomorrow? Why would she reject me but kiss me? Why would she reject me if she wants to kiss me? Why?

I ask none of them. If this moment has to end; if I can't kiss her again tomorrow, then I will make damn sure I kiss her as much as I can while I can.

She speaks again in a husky tone. "But you can have me for today."

That's all I need to kiss her again, more passionately this time. I kiss her with everything I have, saying everything I can't say tomorrow.

What follows is the best sex I ever had. Like the first time. And the second time. And dammit, I want to do this all the time, not just now.

"Play for me," I ask. No, I plead.

She laughs melodically. "What's with you and playing music after sex?"

"Well, you are beautiful when you are naked but you are even more beautiful when you play."

She does as I ask. She plays for me. I play for her. We play together. We finish the ring together.

The day is even better than the first time because I get to spend more time with her. It's pointless to lie to myself; I am in love with her. I've been in love with her since the moment she first smiled at me and now, I know it to be true.

Then the morning comes…

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 2: Calm**

 **December 12, 1994**

I wait by the corner for potions class to finish and make my move. Snape walks out of the class and I ram into him.

"Sorry, professor. I didn't see you there."

He snarls at me. "How can you not see me, Potter? Do you not have eyes?"

I glare at him though my lips curve up slightly. It should be telling enough but I clue him in verbally as well to be safe. "I'm sorry, sir," I spit. "I have a lot of things on my mind."

"That will be five points for your disrespectful tone, Mr Potter. And a detention of cleaning cauldrons without the aid of magic would help your eyesight, I think. Eight o'clock tonight."

"That's unfair, that is," I complain just for show.

"One more word and I'll have you cleaning the boys' toilet without magic for a week," he threatens.

I nod and make my way to where my excuse for being here is, my friends who I am here to walk to lunch with.

The clock hits eight and I knock on Snape's office door. "Enter."

"I thought it would be a good idea for you to check my progress in Occlumency," I get right into it.

"I gathered that. You were quite obvious with your act. Saying you had a lot on your mind would have sufficed," he informs me. I am surprised he didn't insult me at all. "If you were a spy, you wouldn't survive a day." There it is.

"Of that, I have no doubt. To be a good spy, you'd have to know how to blend into the background, I imagine. I am lousy at that as I'm sure you know."

He looks at me searchingly for a second before barking "clear your mind" and attacking my mind.

I wasn't ready for that at all. That barking wasn't even an attempt to warn me to get ready. His attack is easy to feel as he picks apart my memories with an ease that terrifies me.

I wasn't lying when I said I have too much on my mind. I do. The day before, the wonderful and wondrous day I spent with Fleur is all I can think about.

Now, Snape knows too. Shit.

That small freak out is enough motivation for me to throw him out of my mind as an instinct I didn't know I had kicks in.

We both take deep breaths to gather ourselves. "Please tell me you didn't see too much?"

He looks at me inquiringly and I can't help feel uncomfortable. The man has an uncanny ability of looking at you and making you feel smaller than an ant. "Calm down, Potter. I am not a paedophile. I didn't see your little girlfriend naked."

"She's not my girlfriend," I mumble. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask 'do I look like I care?'

"I have no interest in your love life, Mr Potter. That was pitiful, by the way. You spent so much time dwindling around that if the dark lord ever enters your mind, you can be sure he'll know your every little secret. Not the least of which is your little paramour."

Double shit.

"Well, I kicked you out in the end, didn't I? All I have to do is improve on it."

"Yes, but it still was pitiful. Detecting and ejecting a foreign presence is only a part of Occlumency and the easiest part at that. You have to completely master your mind, know the reason behind every emotion and every thought and become adept at understanding how your mind works. Then and only then you can claim to be an occlumens."

We spend the next five minutes discussing various concepts in relation to Occlumency. Well, I discuss things and ask questions while he finds creative ways to insult me while imparting tiny bits of wisdom.

We have such a healthy relationship.

Just as I open my mouth to ask another question, I notice him grip his wand and ready myself for the oncoming onslaught.

It still takes me a lot of time to get him out of my mind. This time, though, I don't just kick him out. Other than the first memory he sees, of the night Katie spent in my arms, every other memory was something trivial. I showed him the chess match with Ron from a week ago and Hermione ranting about some book I don't remember the name of.

"That was not terrible." That translates to 'good job'.

"You still weren't able to keep me out and Dark Lord won't be as gentle as I am when he's in your mind. He will attack like a rampaging hippogriff, shredding your mind to pieces and when he's through, you'd be lucky to breathe autonomously, let alone think."

'Son, you have to learn how to be always ready for an attack because if Dark Lord ever gets control, you are screwed.'

And gentle? If that was gentle, growing new bones was a love tap. Still, the man has a point.

"Professor, I can't 'clear my mind' as you put it. I can quieten it but I don't get how I can think nothing."

"Stop being an idiot, Potter. No one can think nothing. There are two ways of defending one's mind. The first is to have an impenetrable mind. A mind that is simply not there for anyone to see. That is a rare talent to have; I know no one who can accomplish such a thing. The second, the one you are trying to learn, is by trapping the intruder in a thought or a memory so empty, so inconsequential that it's as if you aren't thinking and by giving them no material to manipulate."

"So I shouldn't try to think nothing. I should try to focus on thinking... an empty clearing, for example?"

"Yes. Now, clear your mind!"

I do better this time. I keep him out of any important information though the technique he's trying to impart still evades me.

"Not bad, Potter. This is enough for today. If you keep this up, I may not be forced to spend an hour once a week in your pitiful presence."

'Great job, Potter! I can see how much pain you are in so we should call it a day. Keep up the good work and hopefully, I'll not have to cause you pain for much longer.'

I get up and move to the door but stop before stepping out. "Thank you, professor. I appreciate your help."

"Get out, Potter."

'Good night, Harry.'

Like I said, a healthy relationship based on respect and mutual admiration.

 **-HP-**

 **December 17, 1994**

I am once again scared out of my breakfast. This time by Aimee jumping on the bench next to me. "Harry! It's snowing!"

"Yeah," *cough*, "that happens," *cough*, "when it's cold."

Fleur and Samantha arrive at a more sedate pace. I didn't see Aimee arrive so I can't be sure the difference between their pace but it's a safe bet.

"I know that, silly. But it's snow. We must go play." Her voice is far too energetic for this early in the morning. It's a little annoying, to be honest.

"How about I finish my breakfast and then take you to play?"

"No. I want to play now."

Fleur shakes her head from behind Aimee. "You can't win. She goes crazy whenever it snows."

"But I-"

Aimee grabs my arm and drags me off my seat. "Let's play."

So we do. We start by building a snowman. Then we have a snowball fight. Another snowman. Snow angels. Snowball fight.

By the time lunchtime rolls around, I am cold, wet and tired. Yet Aimee still wants to play in the snow. "Aren't you the least bit hungry? I'm starving."

"We can eat here. You call that elf friend of yours. Dobs?"

"But-"

"James, stop being silly."

Sigh. "Let's set up a blanket by the lake then." Her head bobs up and down rapidly. There is no way that's healthy. We move to the lake shore after I ask Dobby to set us up with a picnic basket and half a dozen blankets. "Wait. Where are Fleur and Samantha? I've not seen them... in hours."

She smiles at me. "Oh, I only need one friend to play so they suckered you into being the one."

"So what? I'm your babysitter?"

She nods without an ounce of shame or offence. "Yep."

I'm not sure what to feel. Am I that easy to fool? "Why do you love snow so much?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Because it's snow! Duh!"

We reach my spot to find a small feast waiting for us. "Dobby has trouble understanding the concept of 'enough'," I say when Aimee looks at me questioningly.

I arrange the blankets and sit down while she throws herself onto the blankets.

"It's cute how much he adores you," Aimee says as she sits down next to me and munches on a sandwich.

"It was creepy at first. In his sick little mind, breaking my arm is a perfect way to protect me."

Aimee laughs pretty hard at that. "He broke your arm?"

"Yeah. He charmed a bludger to attack me during a Quidditch match. I almost lost my... you know."

She shakes her head. "I don't. Your what?"

I think it's time to change to subject. "How are the preparations for the next challenge coming? Have you figured out the clue yet?"

"I figured it out, of course. Have you? Or are you trying to get me to tell you what the clue is?"

"I haven't worked at it yet, to be honest. I have a lot in my mind lately."

"Like what?"

I gaze on the lake with unseeing eyes. "Everything that's going on. My name coming out of the goblet. Suddenly being this hero to everyone, or a coward depending on who you are asking. Learning how to fight four days a week. Learning Occlumency."

"And Fleur."

"Yeah." It takes me a moment to realise what she said. "Wait, what?"

"You like her a lot. Not like those morons who are caught up in her spell or her beauty."

Should I play it cool or just be honest? "What makes you say that?"

"Half the girls in Hogwarts are mooning over you. Some of them are beautiful even. You could have any of them if that was what you are after. Instead, you are running after Fleur like a lovesick puppy."

"A manly puppy, you mean."

She grins at me and agrees. "Fine, like a lovesick manly puppy."

"Yeah, I was but not anymore. She made it clear she doesn't want to be with me."

"Yet, she kissed you again."

I look at her with wide-eyed surprise. "She told you about that?"

Aimee shrugs. "She didn't have to. I waited all night for her to come back so we can gossip but she didn't."

"Gossip? About what?"

"You," she answers, looking at me like I'm being obtuse.

"What about me?"

"We made a bet. She said you'd definitely use the ring excuse to try to get her to bed."

"And what did you say?"

"I said you were far too excited about the ring for it to be an excuse."

"I was, wasn't I?"

She laughs at me. "You were like a bridesmaid shopping for a wedding gown."

I grin at her description, then sigh. "It doesn't matter, though. She ran off again in the morning."

She gives me a small, secretive smile. "So, that's it?"

"That's what she said." She must be a cinema goer because she laughs at my joke with me. When we settle back, I add, "but yeah, that's it. I asked her out twice. She said no twice. She kissed me twice. She ran off on me twice. What would I gain by pursuing her other than feeling like a stalker?"

"And what will you do if she kisses you again?"

I am saved from having to answer by the arrival of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Balzac, Fleur, and Samantha.

"Oh, food."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Ron, we are coming from lunch."

"So?"

I ignore the bickering non-couple and turn to Fleur. "I'm hoping you are here to relieve me of babysitter duty?"

She nods and smiles unashamedly.

"No! I want to continue playing with you," Aimee whines.

"But-"

"No."

"I-"

"I said no."

Sigh. "I swear I'm never having children."

The excitable girl ignores me as her face lights up with a new idea. "We should make an ice castle!"

I wave my wand and an ice castle rises up twenty feet from us. "There is your ice castle."

Aimee shakes her head and looks at me like I'm being stupid, again. Something must be off about me. "No, silly. I mean with our hands."

"But I can't feel my hands."

It doesn't work. I whine, I cry, I yell but they still convince me to build an ice castle. At least I'm not alone with the crazy girl this time.

We spend the rest of the afternoon making ice castles in two groups to see whose will be better. Girl versus boys.

Girls win. They always win. Though the wet clothes clinging to their skin may have given them an unfair advantage. Who knows?

 **-HP-**

 **December 21, 1994**

"Hey Harry."

"Hey, Katie."

"What are you doing?"

I turn around from where I'm standing next to the window in my room. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"A question a friend asked me the other day."

"And that is?" she asks with a lifted eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"

She shrugs. "I am bored. Entertain me."

She speaks in a tone so childish I laugh. "How may I entertain you, m'lady?"

She gives me a sultry look and walks up seductively though she stumbles for a step halfway. "I don't know. We can find something fun to do, I'm sure." Her voice is sultry and combined with the tight pants she's wearing that shows off her body and the way she walks... Let's just say it has the desired effects on certain parts of my anatomy.

"Katie…"

"Jamie..." she responds in same trailing tone.

I do a double take on that one. "Jamie? Really?"

"Yeah, it didn't come out like I thought it would."

She's right in front of me now, looking up at me with those bright brown eyes of hers and I can smell a faint note of alcohol on her. My hand finds her cheek. "We can't."

"But-"

"Can you promise me you won't be sad when nothing is different between us tomorrow? Can you promise me you won't be heartbroken?"

"No more than today."

"But if this keeps happening, you won't be able to move on."

"How do you know?"

I smile. "Because I'm awesome?"

"Yeah, I'm not buying that."

"It doesn't matter how I know. How did you feel after the last time?"

She smiles cheekily at me. "Wonderful."

I lose the fight to my ego and smile. "I was talking about the day after but still, that's good to know."

She sighs. "Any boy would have ripped off my clothes by now."

"And they would be lucky to."

"Give me this last night. I am too far gone tonight. I'll get over you tomorrow."

"Tell me I won't cause you any more pain and I will."

She nods. "You won't. I promise."

I look at her eyes, searching, judging the truthfulness of her words. And knowing the lie, I still kiss her.

Ah, how easy it would be to love Katie. How wonderfully simple and good a relationship with her would be.

I hate that life is more complicated than that and hate that I can't decide who I fall in love with. I hate not being in control.

But for tonight, for tonight I can love Katie. For tonight, I can make her happy and for tonight, I can pretend life is as simple as it should be.

I hope I'm not making a mistake.

An hour later finds us in bed, sweaty and in a good mood. Katie is lying with her head on my chest and a thin layer of sheet covering her lower body. She lifts her head and looks at me with shining eyes. "I can't believe I promised to give this up."

I smile at her. "Yes, baby, keep stroking it."

She looks at me with a puzzled expression. "What?"

"My ego. Keep stroking it."

She laughs and I can feel her breasts vibrating on my chest. That feels oddly nice. I wonder why. "Prat."

I pout. "That's the opposite of what I wanted you to do." I tuck her hair behind her ear. "Why do you find me attractive? What about me that makes me different from any other boy?"

"Other than the obvious?"

"Yes, other than my insane charisma and manly, masculine, totally awesome body."

Her laughter fills the room and makes me wonder for a second whether she's laughing at me or at my joke. "Well, for one, you are thoughtful. I don't just mean thoughtful as in making me smile when I'm upset. You worry about not only how I am feeling now but also about what I will be feeling tomorrow. Few people would try not to sleep with me to spare me further heartache."

"You are perceptive. You listen not only to what I say but how I say it. You sometimes understand me better than I do."

"Continue."

"What? Wasn't that enough material for your ego?"

I swing her around so I am looking down on her. "More than enough." I rain down kisses on her jawline and cheeks. "Tonight is not about me, at any rate. Tonight is about you. Command me, my lady, and it shall be done."

Her hand goes to my hair, and she makes a feeble attempt to tame it. "I like that idea. Let's see. What do I want you to do? What do I want you to do?" She muses for a minute before deciding. "I want you to draw me."

"You know I have like fifty drawings of you, right?"

"Ah, but I want you to draw me naked. I want to see what you see when you see me naked."

"Alright, like I said, tonight, you are the princess and I'm your lowly servant." I push myself off of her and stand up. I walk six feet away and turn back to her. "Lie on your side with your elbow propped up. Good." I walk back to her and push her hair back so it doesn't stand in the way of her face. I rearrange the blanket so it covers her hip while leaving one of her legs outside.

I move back again and look at her, taking in every inch of her body and memorising. She looks seductive yet vulnerable, happy and confident yet resigned. She truly looks beautiful and I wonder who will be lucky enough to truly win her.

I walk back to bed and lie next to her all the while she watches me with a puzzled expression. "Aren't you going to draw me?"

"I am. Tomorrow. I work better from memory, it helps me add my perception. More importantly, I want you to enjoy tonight to the fullest and that means not making you pose for nearly an hour. I promise you will have the painting tomorrow. I will charm it so anyone other than you will see… I don't know. I'll figure that part out later."

Her eyes water and my heart breaks. "What's wrong?"

Her voice quivers when she speaks. "Why can't you love me back?"

I look at her eyes when I speak, imploring her to understand. "Because I can't choose who I love. If I could, I'd pick you in a heartbeat. If I could choose, I'd be so happy with you."

"If I could choose who I love, I'd choose you, anyway."

That… that breaks my heart a little more.

"Dammit, I don't want to spend tonight crying." She wipes away her tears angrily. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me if whatever it is holding you back goes away… When you are free to love, you'll try to love me."

"That would mean giving you hope, giving you something to cling on when it is healthier to move on."

"I don't care. Promise me."

I graze her cheek with my knuckles and then cup it. I lean in and give a kiss to her forehead.

"I promise."

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 3: Bells Unrung**

 **December 25, 1994**

"Just how long do they plan on making us wait?" Neville asks me in an exasperated tone. "They've been getting ready for three hours."

"According to Sirius, this is what women do. He said to not complain and to just enjoy the results."

The common room is not a beautiful place right now. Every male fourth year and over is standing around, waiting for their dates impatiently. That is a lot of foot tapping and bored sighs.

I hear Neville give a little squeal and glance up to see Ginny walking down the steps. She has a pale blue dress that goes well with her toned skin and red hair. She looks beautiful. "See?"

"You look beautiful," Neville stammers.

"Thank you." The redhead curtsies cutely and hugs the nervous boy's left arm. She looks at me appraisingly. "Hermione said not to wait for her."

I lift my nose up in stubbornness. "Why would I wait for someone who doesn't even tell me who she's going to the ball with," I say as I move to the couch to sit on the armrest.

"Stop being childish."

My response is cut short by the arrival of my date, Katie. She's wearing a black mini-dress that reaches just above her knees with a cut on the left that shows just enough of her thigh to liven up imagination without revealing too much. The damn dress hugs her body like a second skin, highlighting her shapely behind. "Beautiful doesn't even come close to describing you," I whisper to her as I get up and take a step towards her.

"You look rather handsome yourself, Mr Potter," she says taking my hand.

I'm wearing a midnight blue tuxedo with a matching bowtie. It's not my style but Remus insisted I dress appropriate for the occasion. "I know." I give her a crooked smile and she laughs. "Shall we?"

"We shall, shan't we?"

Oh god, not again. Katie is great. She's easy to talk to and a lot of fun. One thing she has is this weird obsession, she loves saying things in ways that sound ridiculously fancy. 'Shan't' is her latest running gag.

"If you say shan't again, I swear I'll ditch you as my date and find a first-year."

"You wouldn't dare!"

I bob my head vigorously. "Oh, yes, yes I would. I'll ditch you so fast you'll get dizzy."

"Fine." She sniffs. "Suck all the joy out of the world, you... you... joy sucker!"

We walk out of the common room and cruise down to the great hall with Neville and Ginny. "That's what Dementors do. Are you comparing me to a Dementor?"

"A Dementor doesn't care how I talk. You are worse than a Dementor." She gasps and her hand moves to her mouth in a pretend shock. "I can't believe I agreed to be your date."

"Well, it's too late now. You are mine and so is your soul." I give what I'm hoping is an evil laugh.

"Don't do that. You suck at doing an evil laugh."

"Like you can do better."

She laughs like a crazy witch which might be true.

"Stop that. Didn't Binns teach you anything? That's the reason Muggles burned witches at stakes."

"Really?"

I nod knowingly. "Yes. That's why Statute of Secrecy forbids us from laughing around Muggles. So they won't get scared and burn us."

She looks up at me with comically large eyes as if I am the second coming of Merlin. "Wow. You are just so smart."

"I know, baby, I know."

"Will you two cut it out?" Ginny says. "You are being ridiculous. Muggles didn't burn witches because we laugh like maniacs. They burned us because when we laugh too much, we get these giant moles on our faces and those moles are ugly. They can't stand ugly."

Katie gasps. "I will never laugh again. I can't let anything mess with this gorgeous face of mine."

"Good. I hate it when women do that."

"Do what? Laugh?" Neville asks.

"Yeah. A good woman should never show her teeth, should be obedient and should know how to cook. Everything else they do is just above their station." I wait for the rant but it doesn't come.

"Hermione isn't here, mate," Neville points out.

"Dammit. I wasted such a good material for nothing."

We reach the doors to the great hall but before we could go in, Professor McGonagall stops us. "Mr Potter, the champions and their dates will enter last as the guests of honour."

Neville and Ginny wave and go in to the great hall while we move away from the doors.

"Makes sense. It wouldn't do to treat us like commoners," I whisper to Katie. I have no intention of raising McGonagall's ire for a cheap joke.

"Why are you acting weird?"

I stare at her with shifty eyes. "I am Draco Malfoy polyjuiced to look like Harry Potter."

She cocks her head to the side in contemplation. "Whatever. I'm okay with that."

I gasp. "How dare you?"

She shakes her head and smiles at me. "How are you coming along with the clue to the second task?"

"Haven't focused on it yet. I think the shrieking is a code. Maybe a language or I have to do something specific for it to ma... ke..."

"Harry? Oh."

Yeah, oh. Fleur just entered the entrance hall in Roger fucking Davies' arm. She's wearing a dark blue mermaid-dress that just kills me and makes my heart go into overdrive. The colour of her dress highlights her hair perfectly. She looks so...

Fuck!

Yep, tonight is going to suck. I shake my head to clear it and focus back on my date. Katie and I may go as friends but I will not ruin her night by mooning over another girl or sulking. "I'm sorry. As I was saying, I don't care about the clue right now. I want to enjoy this holiday season without worrying over this tournament."

She smiles appreciatively at my attempt. "I hope you are not making a mistake."

"I care little about the tournament. I'll win either way and there are more important things in life."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that I have a beautiful girl in my arm and more importantly, Quidditch."

"Quidditch is more important than me?" She wipes a fake tear out of her eye.

"Yep. Quidditch is love; Quidditch is life."

"I thought I was going to this ball with Harry Potter, not Ronald Weasley."

"I am actually Ronald Weasley polyjuiced to look like Draco Malfoy polyjuiced to look like Harry Potter."

She laughs sweetly.

"Hey! I thought we agreed that women should not laugh."

"I'm sorry, mister. Please don't punish me." She speaks in a voice that just begs to be punished, the naughty girl.

"Next time you laugh, I will bend you over my knee and spank you."

She seems to like that idea if the glint in her eye is any sign.

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall walks back out of the hall before Katie can response. "Champions, please line up with your dates in order of points."

I stop Katie from moving. I have to do this. It takes a few moments, but it works.

"Mr Potter, you are up first," McGonagall reminds.

"Sorry. I forget how awesome I am sometimes." I give her a grin when she has a hard time hiding her smile. "I think my age is catching up."

Katie takes my arm and we enter with our heads held high. The hall is filled with decorations that are edging the line between classy and overdone. Everyone turns to us and claps softly, and the room feels suffocating with everyone's gaze on us. We make our way to the table that is sitting where the staff table usually is. The three school heads, Bagman and Percy of all people are sitting with empty seats around them. Percy waves me to the seat next to him but I ignore it in favour of the seat next to Albus.

Gentleman, I am, so I help Katie to her chair before sitting down myself. The house tables are gone. Instead, hundreds of small round tables adorn Great Hall with Christmas trees and various other ornaments around them.

"Good evening, Harry, Miss Bell," the headmaster greets us.

"Good evening, Albus. How are you this fine evening?" I say in a pretentious tone.

He smiles at my tone but doesn't respond as everyone else takes their seats. Once everyone is seated, he looks down to his plate and speaks to his plate in a clear voice, "Pork chops!" The pork chops appear in an instant. Fancy.

I order something light, not wanting something silly like sustenance to impede my celebration of drunken monkeys everywhere.

"Tell me, Harry, how goes your Occlumency training?" Albus asks in a low tone.

"It's going well, I think. I visited Snape two weeks ago. He almost complimented me."

"Yes, he mentioned you were progressing along nicely. I don't know whether he was truly impressed or his desire to not see your face anymore than necessary was overwhelming his senses." Those damn twinkling eyes again. I want to learn how to do that.

"Well, the feeling is mutual I'm afraid. Though I have to admit, we are getting along better but that may be because we see little of each other."

"Yes. Severus is far too happy about that for my liking."

I turn my attention to my date when there is a lull in the conversation. It wouldn't do to ignore my date in favour of talking to an old man. "How is your food?"

"It's good. I didn't know you referred to the headmaster with his first name." She whispers the second part as if she may lose points if someone hears her.

"I normally do that only when we are in private but he made me dress like a monkey so I will do as I please."

"Isn't it weird? I mean he's the headmaster and like, the most powerful man alive."

"Nah, he's just grandpa Albus. I've known him since I was a baby."

"That's just weird."

"You are weird."

"Na-ah." I smile at her. It really is easy to talk to her. "Thank you for agreeing to this."

She looks at me through her eyelashes to look sexy and frankly; it is working. "It's my pleasure."

"Don't say pleasure while you are dressed like that, please. It sends the wrong message."

"Wrong message to who?"

"To the command central downstairs," I answer with a pointed stare.

"I thought we were going to be just friends."

The hope in her eyes kills me and I take a sip of my wine to calm my self-recrimination and arousal down. Wait, wine? Albus really went all out tonight, I see.

I put down the glass and fiddle with my cufflinks. "Katie, I..."

"I know. I'm just messing with you." She looks a little downcast. I don't think she was joking.

I must do something nice for her. I hate that I am the reason she's upset.

I focus on my food for now and let her to her thoughts. After eating for a while, I glance around the table. Cedric is chuckling at something Cho said. Krum and Hermione are having a heated discussion about... Wait, Hermione?! What the hell? How did I not recognise her? She looks beautiful in a pink dress. She put on a little makeup that adds to her earthly beauty. She also tamed her mane. Oh. That's why I didn't recognise her.

Hermione turns looks at me as if she felt my silent shock and raises an eyebrow. We are far from each other so I can't talk to her but I point to her face and give her a thumbs up. She smiles back in response.

I continue my inspection of the other occupants of the table, skilfully ignoring Fleur and Davies. Aimee is with a brunette girl, laughing at something she says. Britt and his date seem to be the only ones not enjoying the special evening as Britt eats silently and the large boy with her looks around impassionately.

The potential comedy gold mine is the Bagman, Karkaroff and Percy trio; Bagman speaks excitedly while Percy and Karkaroff share frustrated glances. At one point, Percy whispers something to the Ukrainian man who throws a dirty smirk at the fat one.

I put whatever stupidity going on there out of my mind and turn to the brunette next to me. "Do you know what Hermione did to tame her hair?" I ask Katie. "Maybe it can help with mine."

"I thought you liked your hair."

"I do. I'm asking in case I want to try something new and uncool."

"You are the only one that thinks your hair is cool."

"Hey now! That's an obvious lie. Everyone worships my hair."

"They don't."

I put my hand in my heart. "They don't? But... But..." I wipe away a fake tear.

"I was just joking. Don't cry."

"That's a horrible joke." My tone turns indignant. "You can't just say things like that about my hair."

"I'm sorry."

"Be glad we are in polite company or I would spank you, you naughty girl. That's your second offense."

She giggles cutely. I'm just glad she's in a better mood.

Dumbledore rises to his feet and invites everyone to do so. He waves his hand and all the tables except two dozen by the doors disappeared. Cool trick. Everyone is probably thinking some amazing feat of wandless magic. The reality is far simpler once again; house-elves.

A platform appears with instruments and a group called Weird Sisters take the stage amongst the excited applause of the crowd.

When Dumbledore asks the champions and their dates to take to the floor for the opening dance, I turn to Katie. "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, oh fair maiden?"

"Okay."

I lead her to the dance floor slowly. "Really? Okay? I ask you to dance with me in a most sophisticated tone and all you can do is 'okay'? Young people these days have no decorum."

She puts a hand on my shoulder as I take the other in my hand. "Young? You are younger than me, little boy."

My empty hand finds her hip and I give a little squeeze to add to my words. "Hah! I'll have you know I'm wise beyond my years."

She squeezes my shoulder a little painfully. "Shut up and dance."

"Yes, ma'am!"

We dance to the waltz, and to be honest, it is more than a little awkward. I'm still no fan of dancing. The only time I enjoyed dancing was... No. I won't go there.

We dance for three songs before taking a break to get drinks and rest. I, being the gentleman I am, take on the difficult job of getting the drinks. Just as I take two cups of... an unidentifiable red concoction, world's most lovely voice interrupts me. "Enjoying yourself, Harry?"

I turn around. "I am. How about you? Where is Davies?"

"He's talking to his friends, I believe."

I look her up and down and take in her beauty before I can stop myself. "You look beautiful."

She gives me a small smile and takes a sip of the wine she's holding. "Thank you. You don't look bad yourself."

"I better be. I paid ridiculous amounts of money for this monkey get up."

"Not a fan, I take it?" she asks with a grin.

"What gave it away? The monkey comment or the obvious discomfort I am in?" I ask in a mocking tone.

"It was the monkey comment."

We stare at each other saying nothing for a moment. "Why are you here, Fleur? Shouldn't you be dancing with your date?"

She sniffs, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I was getting Katie and me something to drink."

She points to the cups in my hands. "You have your drinks."

"Yes, I should get going. Enjoy your night, Fleur." I stride past her.

"I will."

Okay, was it me or was that conversation weird and charged? Well, she made her bed.

I walk back to where Katie is talking to Angelina and Alicia. "I hope I'm not interrupting a riveting session of gossiping, ladies."

"You are but I'll forgive you this one time if you promise not to do it again," Alicia answers.

The tension between Alicia and Angelina and me have abated since the confrontation in the common room. I wouldn't say we are friends but we are friendly.

"I can't make such a promise. As a guy, it's my duty to stop you crazy ladies from plotting us poor gentlemen's untimely death."

"Shit! He's onto us. We have to kill him before he tells everyone," Katie says, looking around her as if to check for witnesses.

I give my date her drink. "Where are your dates?"

Angelina points to the open doors of the great hall. "They went to get the booze."

I nod and sit down next to Katie. "God, I hate dancing."

"Yes, thanks to you, I share the sentiment. You kept missing the ground and stepping on my feet," Katie complains. "I don't understand how you managed that. I have the smallest feet."

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you beforehand that I am no dancer."

"I might consider forgiving you if you give me a foot rub."

I shudder at the idea. "Yikes! Don't even say it. I don't like feet."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know but I always have. Washing my feet is the only part I hate about bathing."

She takes a sip of her drink. "Merlin, you are weird."

"Am not. Feet are gross and ugly. If I could, I would cut off my feet and throw it in the trash where they belong."

Katie's response is cut off by Ron throwing himself onto a chair. His hair is in a disarray as if he kept messing with it out of frustration and his bowtie is nowhere to be found. "Can you believe her?! She's consorting with the enemy!"

Alicia and Angelina take one look at Ron and disappear. I consider cracking a 'you can't apparate or disaparate inside Hogwarts' but shrug off the urge.

"Let me guess, you asked Hermione out too late and when you did, you did it like you are doing her a favour. Now, she's dancing with Viktor and you are jealous," I drawl.

He shakes his head in denial and glares at me. "I'm not jealous. Krum is your competition. She shouldn't be with him."

I sit up straight and stare at Ron. "Ron, you are an idiot. Hermione can date whoever she wants as long as she stays away from Malfoy. If you want to be the one Hermione dances, ask her before considering every other girl in the school like she's some last resort."

Ron reddens and gapes like a fish, trying to find a suitable come back.

"Look, mate, I love you like a brother but you can be more stupid than a particularly stupid mountain troll sometimes. Go out there, ask her for a dance, tell her she's beautiful and that you should've asked her. Grow balls, man."

He sits there for a full minute, looking like he can't decide whether to ask me to hold his hand while he does as I say or to punch me before giving me a nod and walking to Hermione determinately.

"That was a good pep talk," Katie says.

"Thanks."

We sit silently for a few minutes. I glance around the dance floor and find Fleur immediately. She's dancing with Davies awkwardly. Davies must be a worse dancer than me to make Fleur seem bad at it. I can't help sigh in remembrance.

"You love her, don't you?"

"Who?" I turn to the brunette.

She looks at me like I'm being exceptionally Ron. "Delacour."

I lean back and look up. "I think I do."

We sit silently for a few minutes while I sulk. Dammit, I promised myself I wouldn't. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have asked Katie.

I sigh and massage my forehead, using my hand to avoid looking at the girl next to me. "Katie, if you want to dance or hang out with your friends, I wouldn't mind. I don't think I'll dance anymore tonight and I wouldn't want you to stay out of some sense of obligation."

"Are you sure?"

Relieved at her easy acceptance and her eagerness, I look up at her and nod. "Yeah, go have fun. I'm sorry for being a bad date."

"It's okay. You can't be awesome at everything." She smiles and gets up to leave. "Good night, James."

"Have fun." I look after her for a few seconds before glancing around and seeing Hermione dance with Viktor. I search the hall for Ron but can't find him. Guess he must've left.

That poor idiot. He'll learn, though. I'm just glad he left without ruining Hermione's night.

I'm brought out of my pondering by a tired Aimee who throws herself to the chair next to me. "Are you having fun, Harry?"

Samantha joins us in a more ladylike manner.

"Oh, yes. This is just so great."

My sarcasm is not lost on her. "Why stay if you aren't enjoying yourself?"

My response is lost when the bright flash of Colin's camera burns my irises. "Colin, remember what we agreed on?"

"Sorry, Harry."

"Take another one. That one won't see the light of day," I order him not so kindly.

Both girls scoot closer and we smile at the camera. Colin takes half a dozen pictures before moving on to somewhere else.

"Would you ladies like a drink?"

Samantha is the one to respond. "Our dates are getting us something."

"I meant alcoholic."

"Oh, okay then."

"Dobby." I wait for the customary pop but nothing happens. Weird. "Dobby if you can hear me, can you bring me a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine from my cooler? Some glasses too?" The whiskey and the glass appear with a nearly silent pop. "Thank you."

I pour myself and the girls the drinks and sip my whiskey. My eyes on 'her' once again. We make eye contact but I refuse to look away. She turns back to her awkward dancing with Davies, leans in and kisses him.

Not cool. I look down at my half empty glass, finish it and pour another one.

"Okay there, Harry?" sweet Aimee asks.

"Yeah, why?"

She points to the glass I filled a moment ago. "You look like you can't get drunk fast enough."

I give her what I'm sure is an awkward smile. "Oh, this? You can't dance like a drunken monkey without getting drunk first."

She smiles at my weak joke. "You must teach me that dance. You looked like you were having a ton of fun at the club."

"First, you drink enough to make you brave enough to be stupid." I take a large sip as an example. "Then you do whatever you have to do to make your friends embarrassed so they'll run away, leaving you to make a fool out of yourself without even realising." I look down at my glass and get lost in thoughts.

I am not sure whether that night was a blessing or a curse. It was one of the best nights of my life, yet, if I hadn't stayed, if I hadn't asked, I wouldn't be this mess of unrequited desires.

Aimee brings me out of my musings. "She likes you too, you know."

"Oh, yeah. It's so obvious with the way she was kissing Davies." I look around as I take another large sip.

It is a nice night, to be honest, thanks to high tempo music, heightened teenage hormones and copious amounts of smuggled alcohol, everyone is having fun. The night looks to be filled with excitement and drunken regrets for my schoolmates and the visiting students.

"I'm going to get some air. You ladies enjoy your evening." I take the whiskey bottle and my glass and make my way out of the castle. It's a peaceful night with the snow-covered grounds and gentle wind, a beautiful contrast to how I'm feeling right about now.

I find an empty bench near the black lake and sit down. Normally, when I am upset, I draw or play piano because my thoughts bother me so much. Tonight, I don't feel like doing either yet my brain is begging for silence.

I drink and watch the lake for a long time, thinking. When I have enough of that, I start rapidly transfiguring stones I find on the ground to wood, cast a Stay-Dry charm on it and transfigure it to a miniature version of Hogwarts. Then I burn it to ground and start over. I do this over and over, for two straight hours.

It's therapeutic, and it's better than having my mind run off. Every time I burn down a Hogwarts, I build it bigger and in greater detail. The one I'm working on now is three foot tall and ten foot wide. I don't burn down this one. Instead, I focus on building the grounds. The forest is the first to be added. The Quidditch pitch follows. Then the lake. As I add the twelfth and last Thestral, I hear 'her'.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

I don't look up. There are still details that need finishing. I need to finish them. "I am making a miniature version of Hogwarts."

"Why?"

"Because reasons."

I start on Hagrid's hut and follow that with five Hippogriffs. Then comes the greenhouses.

"Why aren't you inside, dancing with your date?" she asks me.

"Because I hate dancing. Why aren't you?"

"Because I'm tired of his drooling."

I laugh at that but I still don't look up from my work.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just a funny thought."

"Then share it with me so I can laugh with you." I'm not sure but she sounds a little upset.

"Well, considering it was you who was kissing him, I find it hypocritical of you to be the one complaining."

"That... was a mistake."

I laugh at her wording. "Merlin! Do you call it a mistake every time you kiss someone?"

Centaurs and Acromantulas. Unicorns. The whomping willow.

She doesn't answer. "If you were going to leave her, why did you ask her?"

"She deserves to have fun. I wasn't willing to ruin her night for my sake while she was doing me a favour."

"What favour?"

I finally look up. She looks so beautiful with her cheeks red from the cold and snow falling around her. Angelic. That's the only way to describe how she looks.

"Well, I didn't want to invite just anyone. It was either someone I liked or someone I'm friends with. Hermione already had a date. Other than her, Katie is the only girl I can say I'm friends with so I asked her."

She sits down next to me. "May I?" She points to the whiskey bottle.

"Dobby, would you bring another glass, please?"

When the glass appears, I pour her and myself a glass each and we sip in silence. I turn back to my Hogwarts when I am halfway through the glass. There is a lot yet to be done. The giant squid, the merpeople.

Merpeople? Can it be? The task will focus on water which means it will probably involve the black lake somehow. I still remember that beautiful, naked mermaid's shrieking laughter when I made an arse of myself. Hah. It must be it.

"What are you thinking?"

I look up with a start. "What?"

She points to the small Hogwarts. "You suddenly stopped."

"Oh, yeah. I figured out what the shrieking in the clue is. It's how mermaids sound when they are out of the water."

"I know."

My eyes find the lake once again and we fall silent. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it is charged with things that need to be said.

"Aimee likes you very much," she tells me.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't mean romantically if that's what you are asking."

I chuckle silently. "Good."

"Why is that good?"

"Because while I'd like to consider us friends, I can't offer her anything more than that."

"Why not?"

I cross my arms and look her in the eye. "Same reason I can't return Katie's feelings."

We look at each other silently. The moment feels very much like how it felt in my room right before she kissed me and that spurs me to action. "I should go." I get up.

She stops me with a hand on my arm. I glimpse back at her when she stands up. I don't know how it happened, but she's awfully close again and her hands are in mine.

I know where this is going and I don't want the pain. I meant what I said to Katie when she came to my room. The longer this goes on, the more she kisses me and leaves, the harder I will fall and I hope I'm smart enough to say no to that.

"Please don't," I whisper and if she hears the slight desperation in my voice, she doesn't react.

"Why not?" she whispers back, staring into my eyes with her bright blue ones, keeping me in place, unable to escape her clutches.

God, I sound far too melodramatic but there is truth to it.

"Because you will run off again in the morning and I can't keep doing that. I can't keep watching you leave."

She says nothing in response, just continues to look me in the eyes with those damn beautiful eyes of her and I chuckle nervously. "You have no idea what you are doing, do you?"

"What am I doing?"

I don't answer. Not because I'm ashamed or anything. Because I am not sure what the answer is. "What do you want from me, Fleur?"

"A kiss."

"Why me? If all you want is a kiss, I'm sure Davies would be happy to oblige." I fight off the urge to vomit at the idea.

Her shoulders stiffen and her nose flare. She let's go of my hands. Why is she mad? "You are right. Maybe I should go to him."

I don't like the loss of her skin but I don't show. I give her a sad, thin smile. "You haven't answered my question. Why me?"

She hesitates a few seconds. "Because I matter to you."

It makes sense. I don't know Davies well enough to comment on what he sees in Fleur but from the way he looked, I doubt his attention and desires were anything 'real'.

I ruffle my hair, sit back down on the bench and pour myself another glass, knowing I'm making a mistake yet unable to not make it.

Damn you, hormones!

"Would you like one?"

She lifts an eyebrow and looks down at me saying nothing for a minute while I drink. When the minute is over, she sits as well and pours herself a glass.

I turn my whole body to her halfway and put an arm behind her back, on the bench. "Will you?"

She turns a little as well and tilts her head to a side. "Will I what?"

"Will you run off again in the morning and act like nothing happened?"

"I... I don't know."

I laugh silently. "I am making a big mistake but dammit, you look so damn kissable right now." I move a little closer to her.

Her lips tilt upward slightly to form a smug smile and this time, I doubt it's a mask or a jest. "I always look 'damn' kissable."

I chuckle. That smug smile looks so cute on her. With her lips red and cheeks pink from cold, eyes sparkling with mischief, she looks like a kid that won a lifetime supply of ice cream. "That's just not true."

Her eyes narrow and her smile gets a dangerous quality to it. "Oh, really? Give me one example of when I didn't look kissable?"

"I can't think of anything right now but I'm sure there are times."

Smugness returns. "Just admit it. I always look kissable."

I keep myself from smiling with a great effort. "Never."

She moves a little closer. "Admit it."

"No."

A little closer. "If you admit the truth, I will reward you."

I lose the battle and smile. "Bribery? I like your style. What is the reward?"

"A kiss."

"We will kiss no matter what."

She moves a few inches back. "Just for that, I won't let you kiss me."

"That is cruel, threatening me like that." She shrugs and smiles a little more. "I don't like threats."

She looks at me invitingly. "What are you going to do about it?"

I lean to her and whisper, "tickle you."

She leans all the way back on the bench, almost laying on her back, her face a mockery of exaggerated fear. "You wouldn't dare!"

I move towards her, on top of her. "Are you sure?"

"I..." She hesitates. "Yes, I'm sure," she declares when I lift an eyebrow smugly.

"You are right. I couldn't do that to you." I lean in and give her a chaste kiss. "Or could I?" I tickle her sides just above her hip.

She giggles in response immediately. "Stop... Please... I give. You win."

It takes a few seconds for her to calm down and I enjoy the way her chest moves as she heaves. She looks so cute and sexy at the same time. All the movement caused her dress to shift and show a little of her black, lacy bra. Her cheeks are flushed a little more, adding to her sexiness even with the glare she's directing at me.

"You are beautiful." Her glare is gone in an instant, in its place a soft expression and a smile.

"Take me to your room."

"Not yet."

She frowns in confusion. "Why not?"

"I'm sure you can figure out the reason. It's poking at you right now."

Her eyes shine with understanding and she giggles. "And you claim I don't look kissable and sexy all the time."

"I must have a weakness for lacy lingerie."

It takes her a moment to catch on to what that means. She pushes me off and adjusts her dress. Once she's satisfied with the state of her dress, she turns back. "It's good to know."

"Why?"

She smiles knowingly. "It might come in handy."

"For what? You can't mean the tournament unless you plan on putting on a show for the masses."

She leans into me seductively. "I'm sure I'll figure something out."

"Somehow, I know you will."

She gives me a passionate kiss and moves on top of me. "If you keep doing that, we'll never make it to the room," I breathe out once we break off, her hips pressing against me, giving me shivers.

She kisses my jaw, then my neck. "I guess," another kiss, "we don't," another kiss, "need to hurry."

I lift her off me and stand up from the bench while she wraps her legs around me. "I guess I can disillusion us."

She smiles at me with triumphant. "What's the rush?"

"I can't wait to hear you play."

The laughter she rewards me with while I cast the charm and carry her towards my room at a quick pace is music to my soul.

 **-HP-**

 **December 26, 1994**

I wake up blissful and warm, the afternoon sun is filling the room with an orange hue, matching my outlook. My brain fights through the light hangover to catch up with reality. I can't help love reality sometimes. There is a goddess sprawled over my chest sleeping, her face displaying none of the worries and walls she carries with her, a small smile on her lips.

She will want to leave, again, but I don't intend to let her. I will fight. If she leaves anyway, if this morning resembles the other two mornings we shared, I will assume there can be no future for us. If that happens, I will give her a final kiss and bury the memories.

A kiss that says forget-me-not. And a burial that will help me forget.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and breathe in her aroma. A light tone of sweat mixed with flowers. She always smells of flowers. I'm not sure which combination of flowers but she does. I don't understand how that is even possible and nothing I read about Veela alludes to an ability to explain it. Even the best of perfumes should have lost its smell after last night after all the dancing and all the sex.

And yeah, I'd like one of those perfumes for myself because I sure stink due to the number of times I burned down small Hogwarts'.

She murmurs in her sleep which means she will wake up soon. She did that the last time she spent the night in my bed. I can't believe I get to say that. 'The last time she spent the night in my bed'.

"Dobby," I whisper and a muffled pop announces the little guy's arrival, proving just how attentive he really is.

"What can I do for you, ma- Harry James?"

"Can you bring us breakfast? Chocolate croissants and fruits. A pot of tea too." I consider what else we might need and add, "and clean clothes for Fleur?"

"Yes, Harry James." With a snap of his bony fingers, breakfast and a change of clothes for Fleur appear.

"Thank you, little buddy."

Pop.

I feel a movement on my chest and look down to see sleepy eyes and a sloppy smile of my goddess. I say goddess not only because she's gorgeous but because she's the only thing I worshiped before going to bed.

Yeah, I absolutely don't want her to leave.

She yawns. "Good morning."

Corners of my mouth tug upward without I even realise. "It is a good morning, isn't it?" I tighten my arms around her a little. "I had Dobby bring us breakfast. Do you want to shower first or eat?"

She kisses me. It is a first. The other two mornings, she shied from even throwing a glance at me. "How about we sweat a little before showering?"

I blink once, twice, thrice in surprise. "But I don't want to play Quidditch."

She lets out a charming laugh and kisses me. It's not passionate or heated. It is sleepy and contented; a perfect kiss in a special way.

"You will play for me after, right?" I ask when our lips separate.

"If I say no, will you not sleep with me?"

I screw up my face as if I'm considering it. "Well..."

She taps on my chest twice with her palm. "It doesn't matter. You don't have a say in this."

"True."

An hour later finds us eating breakfast in bathrobes. Well, I eat, she devours. It's like watching a gorgeous, female version of Ron. "You can calm down, you know. There is more than enough food."

She grins and cleans the chocolate I was planning to clean with a kiss from the corner of her mouth. "I wasn't able to eat last night because of the way Davies kept staring at me the whole time."

"Still, it wouldn't hurt to have table manners," I say snootily and laugh when she glares. "I'm just joking. You look cute."

She gives me a 'damn right' nod and returns to her eating. She studies the room as she eats while I consider the differences in her behaviour between this morning and the other two mornings. She's happier and more open. I don't know what brought on this change but I am not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She swallows the piece of orange she was eating and asks, "are those my clothes?"

"Yep. I asked Dobby to bring them for you. I assumed you wouldn't want to walk around in yesterday's dress."

"That's thoughtful of you."

I smile brightly. "What can I say? I am a gentleman."

She nods absentmindedly before focusing on my face. "You thought I would leave right away, didn't you?"

"It was a safe bet. I can safely say I am delightfully surprised."

She hums and returns to her food at a more sedate pace. "I was planning to."

"What changed?"

She considers something for a moment before answering, "I thought about what you asked last night. Why you? Why do I keep coming back to you? I meant what I said yesterday. When you kiss me, I matter. I am not just beautiful or sexy. I am Fleur Delacour, not a Veela without an identity. I like that. I like that a lot."

"I'm glad you do. I like Fleur Delacour a lot."

She gives me a warm smile before her forehead wrinkles in thought. "You said you can't keep watching me leave, and I realised it wasn't fair of me to expect you to. I'm not saying we should go on dates or anything. We are not a couple. But we are also not friends. Am I making any sense to you right now?"

I shake my head. "Nope. But I like the way it sounds so I won't analyse it. Much." I take a large sip of tea. "Can I assume that means you will be more frequent around here?"

"I won't be visiting your bed every night if that's what you are asking."

"I don't mean just sex. Sex is brilliant but I enjoy spending time with you, even just talking." I tilt my head to the side and smile. "Besides, it's you who always starts the kissing. I asked you to dance, and you kissed me. I asked your help on enchanting a ring and you kissed me. I was building a miniature Hogwarts last night when you came and kissed me."

She turns up her nose at me. "Fine. I won't kiss you until you kiss me then."

My smile turns cheeky. "I won't keep you waiting for too long, don't worry."

She gives me an indulging smile before turning serious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What is your relationship with Katie? The full extent."

I take a minute to gather my thoughts and figure out how to explain. "Like I said, we are friends. She has feelings for me I don't reciprocate. We slept together twice. It won't happen again though."

"Because of me?"

"Yes, and no. It won't happen again because she can't get over me as long as we sleep together. It will only add to her pain."

Her eyebrows knit in confusion and consideration. "That has nothing to do with me."

"You are the main reason, I believe, I can't return her feelings. If I hadn't met you this summer, I might have fallen in love with her. After my birthday, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Even when I slept with her, a part of me compared her to you, I don't know why."

One corner of her mouth curls up in a smug smile. "Because I'm awesome?"

"Hey! That's my line."

"And yet, when I say it, it is true."

We get to know each other a little more during the next two hours by asking personal questions in-between joking and flirting. I find out her father is a head auror for the French version of DMLE. She listens to two of my adventures. I learn that her most serious relationship lasted a little over a month and ended because of a misunderstanding. She learns my 'Parrot charm' and sends a message to Aimee.

I learn one thing that makes me like her even more. Puck likes her. He spends half an hour on her lap which is twenty-eight minutes longer than any other person but me. It seems like she has Puck's approval and I'm not sure why but that's important. Don't get me wrong, Puck likes every one of my friends but the most he allows them to do is petting him for a short while.

I give in and kiss her at the end of those two hours and we move back to bed so I can worship her more. Before you blame me, who could last longer with 'her' sitting in front of you in nothing but a bathrobe that keeps revealing sinful flesh.

We don't leave the room the whole day and she spends a second night in a row in my bed. Just before I sleep, a thought hits me: it was the perfect day and from now on, every day will feel bleak compared to it.

I'm okay with that.

 **-HP-**

 **December 27, 1994**

I wake up alone in bed and for a reason I am not awake enough to identify; I don't like that one bit. I groggily sit up in bed and shake my head to clear the metaphorical cobwebs.

I hear a giggling and turn to see Fleur sitting by the table in nothing but one of my shirts and her knickers, looking as sexy as ever. She's eating breakfast. More accurately, she's holding a fork to eat but can't because of her giggling.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You look cute when you wake up."

I shake my head at that. "Not cute. Handsome is the word to describe me."

"Why? What's wrong with cute?"

I get up, walk over and land a kiss on her neck. She nuzzles back to my chest. "Cute is what you call a puppy or a baby. Not someone sexy like me," I breathe out.

She lifts her nose. "I'll call you whatever I want."

"Fine. As long as you keep calling my name like you did last night, you can call me whatever you want."

The breakfast is once again a variety of French pastries. My stomach rumbles with hunger so I sit down next to Fleur while she laughs. "Hungry?" she teases.

I smile at that. "I wasn't able to eat much last night because of the way you kept staring at me."

She throws a piece of her food at me. "I wasn't."

"Sure thing, Princess." I take a bite of waffle. "What time is it?"

"A little past eleven."

I throw another piece to my mouth and jump from the chair. "Shit. I have to go." I rush over to my wardrobe for clean clothes.

"Why?"

I stop at that. Why not? "This was a mistake," I say with a sad glance.

"What?" She takes a moment to catch up. "Oh, you bastard. Throwing my words back at me, I see?"

I laugh at that. "I couldn't resist."

"You will pay for that."

"I know. I do need to go though. I have to meet with my godfather at eleven to take a portkey to a tournament in Ibiza."

"What tournament?"

"A duelling tournament sponsored by European Duelling Association."

"I heard about that. Isn't that for professionals?"

"It is. Sirius thought it would be a good test for me." I put on a long-sleeved black shirt and glance back at her. "Why don't you and Aimee come as well?"

"I can't."

I walk back to the table to eat more. "Why not? It'll be a good workout for the duelling tournament in April."

She throws me a puzzled glance. "Aren't you supposed to be registered with ICW to join?"

"It's nothing a little gold can't fix. I'm not registered either."

"I don't want to embarrass myself against experienced duellers."

I smile at her. "That's the best part. Because they are experienced duellers, even if you lose in the qualifiers, you won't have anything to be embarrassed about. Besides, I am sure you'll make it to the second rounds at the least."

She looks at me unsurely. "How do you know?"

"Fleur, you are a Triwizard champion and a powerful witch." She still looks unsure. It isn't a look that suits well with her. "I already plan to train a little with Remus and Sirius before the tournament. You can join us. They will be happy to give you some pointers."

"How long do I have to decide? I should talk to Aimee."

"Portkey leaves in five. I want to go shopping beforehand but I can do that some other time so there is no hurry."

She throws a piece of orange in her mouth and stretches which does wonders to my blood flow. "If there is no hurry…" she trails off in a seductive tone and gives me a provocative pose.

I saunter to her and wrap my hands around her from behind. "With your looks, you can convince me to skip this tournament without an effort." I brush my lips over her neck and suck, leaving behind a red skin that stands out on her.

"That will leave a mark," she says yet her tone offers no complaint.

"My apologies," I whisper. "How can I make it up to you?"

She turns on her chair and wraps her hands around my neck. "I'll figure something out later."

An hour later, we leave the castle and go our separate ways after she gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek. That's sweet. She will talk to Aimee and send me a 'parrot' while I meet with Sirius and Remus in The Three Broomsticks for lunch though I doubt I'll eat anything

I stroll to the Hogsmeade with a stupid grin that doesn't show the effort I'm putting into figuring out a way to avoid the teasing I most definitely will receive from the greying duo. What will they tease me about? Well, for starters, the red mark on my neck that sticks out like a sore thumb. As soon as they see it, they will know why I'm late. Then, there is a possibility of Fleur joining us.

I sure hope she comes though. No matter how much teasing I will have to endure, Fleur's presence will be more than make up for it.

I am not sure where we are in our relationship, or what we are exactly. Like she said, we are not friends. We are not dating. We are… I don't know but I will not question it. With Fleur's tendency to draw back, I don't think it would earn me anything but another 'this was a mistake' moment.

I enter the Three Broomsticks to find Sirius and Remus eating lunch. "You realise, a responsible guardian would worry about the reason behind his charge's lateness."

Sirius turns in his seat and grins. "Who says I wasn't worried?" I raise an eyebrow in question. "I did, in fact, come to your room to check up on you half an hour ago. Do you know what I found?"

"Oh, fuck."

"That's the word for it." His grin grows even more.

"Tell me you saw nothing," I beg.

"Don't worry, the sounds reaching to the stairs were enough to clue me into your wellbeing so I saw no need to enter the room."

I flop myself to a chair and put my head in my hands. "And I was having such a great day."

Remus laughs at that. "I bet."

I open my mouth to curse them but a feminine voice interrupts me, "Harry, how lovely to see you here."

"Double fuck." I turn around to find Rita behind me with a shit-eating grin on her face. "Hello, Rita."

She sits down with no invitation. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about some rumours I heard?"

Sirius opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. "Not at all."

"My sources claim you were cosy with the Veela after the Yule Ball. What is your relationship with her?"

Okay, that's a big problem. Even with our agreement, Rita may revert to her original form for a juicy enough story and this certainly falls into that category. What to do? What to do?

I put on a kind smile but my voice is anything but when I speak, "writing about Fleur in any context other than the tournament would be a mistake you won't get to regret, dear Rita. Do we understand each other?"

Her smile vanishes without a trace. "Was that a threat?"

Sirius and Remus stiffen but my smile doesn't change at all. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"You aren't big enough to scare me, boy," she hisses yet her eyes betray her words.

My smile turns feral. "Are you sure you want to take that route, Rita? It'd be a shame to lose a helpful asset like you."

She doesn't move for a minute, considering her options.

"I am going to Spain this evening for the annual IDA Winter Tournament. Watching my performance may make it easier for you to decide."

She gives me a shaky node and stands up.

"I will pretend this conversation didn't happen as long as you heed my warning, Rita. Oh, please try to remember I am not stupid. I would know it's you even if the article has someone else's name under."

She rushes out of the pub without a glance back after that.

"Holy shit. You were damn scary." Sirius shakes his head and gulps down his beer.

"That's what you get for dealing with people like Skeeter," Remus declares.

I shake my head in disagreement. "If I didn't make a deal with Skeeter, she wouldn't deign to even ask me about what happened. She'd just write the most slanderous article she could come up with. More importantly, she is a useful propaganda tool."

"So, Fleur?" Sirius changes the subject. "How did that happen?"

Madam Rosmerta comes to take my order before I can answer and I order a glass of orange juice. "She came up to me after the Yule Ball and we talked for a while. She convinced me it would be a good idea to kiss her so I did," I recount when she leaves. I smile wistfully. "This is the first time I'm leaving my room since."

Sirius laughs at my expression. "That sounds like a productive two days."

"Well, that's a given," I answer with a snort. "By the way, she might join us for the tournament."

"I'll get to meet my goddaughter-in-law!"

Oh, god. What have I done?

 **-HP-**

 **December 31, 1994**

Have I mentioned how awesome I am? If I haven't, here it is: I am awesome.

Today is the third and final day of the tournament. Starting with the quarter finals, eight duels will take place.

First day was the qualifiers. Each person fought in five duels and ranked according to their winnings and performances. Out of one hundred and ninety-eight participants, ninety-six made it to the first round. I won all five of my qualifiers. Fleur won three.

Second day was the first and second round duels. First rounds were group matches where I had to duel two other opponents in my group. Out of three duellers, only one made it to the second round elimination matches. I won both of my matches in the first round. As did Fleur. Second round was harder to win, but I succeeded while Fleur lost to a woman from Germany. The German's a twice duelling champion, so it was not a big surprise. My win was.

Here is what happened: my opponent, another duelling champion, thought it would be a good idea to make a show of beating the boy-who-lived. He attacked with some of the most flashy spells and transfiguration tricks. I responded in kind and soon; the duel evolved to a whole new level. He transfigured a small Dragon when I conjured a thirty foot snake. When I decimated his dragon with a lightning bolt, he sent a whirlwind of the resulting ashes my way.

I responded by creating a wall of water and freezing it. He responded with an explosion curse as is the tradition. I sent one of my spells his way, 'the flasher'. He destroyed four of the five birds my spell conjured but the one he couldn't, ended the match. The moment he was disoriented, all I had to do was send an accurate disarming charm. I didn't. I, instead, sent three birds that dissolved to a sticky goo that made it impossible for him to move.

When he failed to get out of the goo for half a minute, the duel officially ended. Oh, man, was he mad. He stormed out of the platform spewing profanities while I skipped away with a grin.

I found out Professor Flitwick is also in the tournament when he eliminated his opponent under two minutes. I didn't know it was possible to move that fast, let alone beat an experienced dueller that quickly.

That's why I am standing in front of the blackboard waiting for the announcement of my next opponent. Out of the seven contenders, five of them have won the tournament in the past and the other two are future champions. That means no matter who my opponent is, it will be a tough fight. Still, I hope I get to test my skills against Flitwick before I am eliminated. It would be fun no matter the result, though if I win, I'd also get to brag.

I get my wish when the names are announced. F. Flitwick Vs. H. Potter, the blackboard says. I turn to the small professor and give him a shit-eating grin. "I guess we'll get to find out who is Hogwarts' best dueller, sir."

"You are forgetting Albus, Mr Potter. He's a better fighter than me."

I shake my head. "He doesn't count. He learned from Godric Gryffindor himself."

The small man laughs softly at my joke. "I will see you on the platform..." He checks the blackboard before continuing, "B in an hour, Mr Potter."

"See you out there, Professor. I can't wait."

The excitable man gives me a grin. "For your information, Harry, I have no intention of losing to a student of mine."

I smile at the kind man. "I saw your last match, sir. My goal is to not lose before the ten minutes mark."

I walk back to where Sirius, Remus and Fleur are eating a late breakfast and waiting for me.

"Who did you get?" asks Sirius as soon as I sit down.

"Flitwick."

"Do you think you can beat him?"

"Oh, hell no. He will kick my ass."

Sirius shakes his head and puts down his sandwich. "You can't think like that. If you do, you have already lost."

I give Sirius a pointed stare. "Need I remind you how quick he is on his feet? He moves like the fucking Yoda."

"Put on a strong defence, you must," Remus speaks in a high-pitched voice and we laugh.

Well, Fleur doesn't. "What is a Yoda?"

We stop laughing immediately and look at her as if she is an alien. "Oh, boy," I groan.

Some history lesson is in order here. One weekend in their last year of Hogwarts, Sirius and my dad snuck out of school and wound up watching the first movie of the trilogy. They snuck out a week later with the other two Marauders to see it again.

Ever since then, it became a tradition for he and Remus to get together to watch the trilogy in one sitting.

So, yes, I can feel a rant coming.

Sirius stared at her with a crazed gleam in his eyes. "What is Yoda? He is only _the_ greatest character in the trilogy in history of cinema."

For the fifteen minutes, Sirius recounts the Star Wars trilogy with great detail, not realising Fleur lost interest three minutes in.

"I need to get air before my duel. Fleur, would you like to join me?"

Fleur nods enthusiastically and takes my offered hand. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry about that," I offer sympathetically as we walk around the compound under the sun, enjoying the warmth of a more tropical weather while we can.

"He is _passionate_ about those movies."

Now, that's an understatement. "Yeah, I'm surprised he didn't drag you off to watch them right away."

We walk in silence in the compound's courtyard for ten minutes.

"Are you nervous about the duel?"

"No, just excited. I care little about winning or losing in this tournament but it will be nice to test my skills against Flitwick."

"Even if you lose, you did great," she says encouragingly.

I smile at her. "You were great too. Didn't I tell you you would at least make it to the second round?"

She nods and says nothing.

I drop her hand and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer, allowing me to enjoy her smell. "Thank you for coming. Last three days wouldn't be this much fun without you."

She snickers. "Don't get too used to having me in your bed."

"I don't mean that." She lifts an eyebrow unbelievingly at that. "Well, not just that. I enjoyed having you around, spending time with you." My cheeks warm up a little.

"It's good to know."

"If only Aimee could come too. It would be so much more fun."

She tightens her hand around my midsection. "No need to be an asshole."

"Just making sure you don't get a big head, dear."

"I don't have a big head. I am a down-to-earth even though I am one of the most beautiful, most talented and smartest woman in the world," she declares with her nose up in the air.

We both laugh as soon as she finishes. Fleur may be a stuck-up witch in public and more than a little elitist but she's not a conceit girl. She has insecurities and flaws just like any other teenager and she knows it. I like that about her. I like that even though she is just as flawed and broken as everyone else; she has enough faith in herself to act so arrogant.

Kinda like me.

We continue our stroll for another half an hour, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. "We should go back inside. Your duel is about to begin."

I make it to the duel with only a minute to spare. The duel before mine was great according to Remus. It lasted for ten minutes and there was a lot of blood.

Why do people love violence and gore when they are spectators?

I walk up to the stage and bow to my professor as he does the same. The referee yells, "begin," and we are off.

I immediately cast a strong shield while the small man chains together two sets of four spells in quick succession. I wait for the spells to hit my shield harmlessly before sending a stream of water his way.

Dodging is not an option against someone as quick as Flitwick. I have to rely on the power I can put in a shield and try to limit his mobility. That's why the moment Flitwick attempts to freeze the body of water heading his way, I send a large ball of fire to prevent it from happening.

His surprise at my strategy doesn't last long as he conjures a small tornado around himself to stop the water from getting to him. It doesn't matter because he wasn't my target, anyway. As soon as the water hits the ground, I freeze it, leaving only a ten feet radius circle dry for him to move.

I may not be as fast as he is but even he can't get rid of the ice without risking a direct hit from me.

He gives me a proud smile that turns feral in a manner of seconds. That can't be good.

I learn the reason behind the feral smile when he conjures a bird of white, hot fire that flies towards me while melting the ice in front of the professor. I have three seconds to consider whether my shield would hold and come up with a strategy.

If I can't dodge because he is too damn fast and holding up a shield constantly would prevent me from attacking with enough power, I have to not be where he is attacking.

I conjure a wall of ice-cold water that lets out a thick steam as soon as the fiery animal makes contact. I take advantage of the steam and disillusion myself and move to aside to create an illusion of myself where I was a moment ago. That illusion will mimic my movements to make sure Flitwick doesn't suspect anything.

Just before a gust of wind clears the steam, I send three rapid-fired explosion curses to the middle of the platform and conjure everything I can think of. Half a minute later, three snakes, five rats and two wolves slither and run towards the diminutive man.

With two accurate cutting curses, he splits my wolves in half and I respond by turning the four pieces to large plastic balls and sending them his way.

He forgoes the rats for the moment and focuses on the snakes and blasts them away. Instead of destroying the balls or shielding, he dodges all four balls with an awe-inspiring quickness and jumps on two of the rats, squashing them.

Now, that's a strategy.

While I summon the balls back, he kicks another rat and sends a blasting hex at my doppelgänger. I fire a colourless pressure charm as I jump down as if to avoid his hex. Even though the charm is colourless, it is not invisible, so he dodges the one my doppelgänger 'cast' and walks right into mine.

As the intense increase in the atmospheric pressure forces the diminutive man down to his knees, I send a chain of spells known as 'the handshake' and charm the balls to continuously attack the man. 'The handshake' is one of the first chains every dueller learns. A full body-bind curse, a disarming charm, a stunning spell, followed by another disarming charm. He conjures a shield before countering the pressure charm, hoping his shield can stand against the eight spells that are coming his way. Well, four spells and four bright lights my illusion created.

His shield holds, and he jumps up, allowing one of the plastic balls to hit his back as I start chanting another chain. I never finish the incantation as everything goes dark.

I wake up groggily and mumble the end of my incantation before realising what happened while the Professor smiles down at me. "Oh, man! I was doing so well."

"That was a great performance, young man. You should be proud."

"Thank you, sir. How did you realise where I was?" I ask as I get up.

He pats me on my arm, mainly because he can't reach my shoulder, as he gives me a self-satisfied smile. "Only spells that affected my shield came from where you were standing so I shot blindly."

We walk down the stage to where the gang are waiting for me. "Damn. I knew I should have cast a mist first to cover for them."

"You lasted for fifteen minutes, Harry. You should be proud."

"Oh, I am proud. But it's so unfair I lost because of blind luck. Literally," I moan.

Sirius gives me a toothy smile and hugs me. "Stop complaining. That was one hell of a duel. You came up with good strategies and applied them to near perfection."

As soon as Sirius lets go of me, Remus does the same, followed by a more appreciated hug from my blonde goddess.

"Hello, Mr Potter," I hear the voice of my favourite reporter who I would hate to have to kill. Everyone around me stiffens, including Fleur who can't let go off me any faster. Not surprising.

I turn around and give the reporter a nod. "Hello, Rita. I'm glad you took my advice and came to see me in action."

"Yes, I am glad too." That is good. "That was one scary performance."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Depends on whether we have a better understanding of what the rules of our arrangement are."

She smiles without mirth. "I don't intend on tickling the docile dragon. Your performance throughout the tournament makes me think you had prior training. Am I right?"

"You are. After the incident with Death Eaters this summer, I realised no matter how peaceful the current climate in Britain seems, I should prepare for every possibility, so I asked Sirius and Remus to train me. After Lucius Malfoy threatened me and my name came out of the goblet, increasing my training regimen seemed like a good idea."

She nods while taking notes. I guess she must've forgotten her special little quill at home. "They must be good teachers if you can perform like you did with only a few months of training."

"They are. Sirius was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher I had in my time in Hogwarts. It was a shame he couldn't continue teaching because of a bunch of morons' claims of nepotism. Remus is an experienced dueller with a deep understanding of how to overcome dark magic. I have two of the best possible teachers. Only Albus and Professor Flitwick could top their teaching." I turn to Flitwick and wink. "I plan on convincing Professor Flitwick soon."

Rita turns to the half-goblin. "I didn't get the chance to interview Harry's teachers yet. Would you mind sharing your opinion of him and whether you will take him up on his offer?"

Flitwick considers for a moment. "Not at all. Mr Potter... Harry is one of the most talented wizards I had the pleasure of teaching, possibly the best so his performance today wasn't all that surprising. It is a joy to watch as he grows and finds his limits. It would be my honour to teach him a few tricks to use in a duel."

Rita continues to write furiously even after Flitwick speaks. "Thank you." She looks at me once again. "What did you think of your fellow champion, Miss Delacour's performance?"

"She performed admirably. Especially when you consider she doesn't have the training I have. She will be hard to beat when we get to the duelling part of the tournament but I have faith in my abilities."

"Thank you for the interview, Harry," Rita says and leaves as soon as she finishes writing.

Fleur takes a calming breath. "That was odd."

I take her slightly sweaty hand. "What was?"

"She didn't even ask me a question or comment on why I was here with you. From what I heard, she loves writing derogatory articles."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Sirius sniggers but shuts up when I glare at him.

"She won't risk raising my ire," I explain when Fleur looks at me questioningly. "I'm hungry. Let's go grab a bite."

"But I wanted to watch the rest of the matches," Sirius moans.

"Fine. Stay here and watch. I'll go eat all by my poor young, naïve self."

Fleur squeezes my hand. "I'll come with you."

"You know what? Stay and watch all the remaining matches. I'll meet you in the hotel."

Remus looks like he wants to laugh but holds himself. "Go. I'll handle the dog."

"Hey!"


	7. Episode VI

**A/N:** First, I want to start by saying I do not, in any way or form, refuse scientific discoveries regarding the rising temperatures across the world and the dangers we are facing because of our careless destruction of nature. I wrote the small paragraph in this episode regarding Global Warming to further demonstrate the difference the world this story is in from ours. Because when magic is real and scientists aren't even aware of many of the wonders of the world, like in this case, their predictions are bound to be wildly inaccurate. So, for all intents and purposes, J. K. Rowling created a world where the fear of Global Warming exists yet the actuality of it differs from ours. Go, Jo!

Oh, and the first chapter of this episode involves a POV change. I did this because… Well, why not? And because this story is about Fleur to a large extent and not giving her a chance to tell a part of her story, no matter how small, felt unfair. The POV change won't be often but there will be parts of the rest of the story told through Fleur's eyes.

And as always, even if untold so far, thank you for reading and if you have suggestions or criticism regarding anything from plot elements to characterisation and grammar, please do share because I'm always happy to listen.

One last thing before the story begins: I am currently without a beta, which might be obvious from the errors I've committed, and will welcome a volunteer with open arms.

Cue the Harry Potter theme...

 **Chapter 1: Uncomfortable Questions**

 **January 2, 1995**

Life isn't supposed to be this complicated.

I had a plan, a relatively simple one. I would win the Triwizard Tournament, graduate from Beauxbatons with the highest marks of my year and use the aforementioned accomplishments and my Veela heritage to get a job with the goblins as an enchanter or a curse-breaker. By saving the money I earn for a few years, I would have enough money and experience to move out of my parents' house and open a store selling products I enchant, making a name for myself and earning enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life.

Simple, right?

Well, as I found out over the last few months; Fate is a bastard and Drama is a bitch.

I can tell you exactly when things got out of control: when that damnable Goblet of Fire spewed out a fourth name for the _Tri_ wizard Tournament. Ignoring the sexism inherent in that name, that stupid artefact should have selected only three names and for d'Arc's sake, how hard it is to count to three?

Ugh.

And like that wasn't enough, the goblet selected the _boy_ I drunkenly slept with just this past summer. Maybe that was when things started to go wrong? Because no matter my outwardly reaction to the night we spent together, it was a great one and being who I am, those are scarce.

But if I am being honest with myself, the aftermath of the champion selection was the beginning of my obsession with him.

He not only denied any involvement with his- for lack of a better word- illegal entrance to the tournament, but he did so by unashamedly yelling at Madame Maxime. Madame Maxime who, when angry, can scare off even the most powerful man and make the smartest people feel like misbehaving children.

And she was speechless! If I wasn't so shocked myself, I would have laughed at her wide-eyed, open-mouthed look when she was reprimanded like a misbehaving child. A reversal of roles if ever there was one.

The tale James, now Harry, spun was unbelievable, to say the least, and I'm not ashamed to admit I wasn't completely sold until I asked him a few days later near the aptly named Black Lake. It was the resigned fatigue in his eyes that convinced me more than his words.

Then he asked me out. The boy who sent me an almost-naked drawing of myself, who I would compete against in a tournament of a lifetime, asked me out without fear in his eyes and a hitch in his voice.

I said no, of course. I had a plan, and there was no room for dating a fourteen-years-old in that plan, no matter how much fun he was throughout _that_ night. I may dislike most of what comes out of my mother's mouth but she is right about one thing; reputation is everything; and dating a boy three years my junior and with a reputation such as his would ruin mine.

Still, I found my eyes wandering from time to time, finding his form from across the room during meal times and listening to his laughter and jokes while he ignored the rest of the world.

And I could tell ignoring the constant scrutiny wasn't a practiced motion for him; that he, as he said vehemently by the lake, hated the attention. Yet, in a manner opposite of the one I had to implement a few months into puberty, he continued his life with the same bright smile instead of turning cold towards his peers.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a pang of envy for the ease with which he did so and didn't doubt my decision to distance myself from my gossiping and drooling peers except for less than handful friends. Still, our situations are different enough that I can understand where the difference in outlook stems from and can't find it in me to truly regret my distaste of the masses.

I had a good laugh at his drunken state when I heard his god awful singing in the middle of a cold November night, but the knowledge of Dragons overshadowed the fun of the night. And that knowledge was almost enough to shake my confidence in my victory in a tournament with jaw-droppingly high mortality rate.

Still, I am nothing if not talented and resourceful, and came up with a perfect way to overcome my deadly foe. It wasn't easy, singing a Dragon to sleep, but I performed admirably and was sure I'd celebrate an early lead in the tournament.

Then he came out of the tent in that ridiculous costume of his and blew the competition, including me, out of the water with his performance. I'm not ashamed to say I underestimated him, and who could blame me? Here was a fourteen-years-old boy, transfiguring bridges and conjuring high-detailed illusions of rock-bands as if it was another Wednesday.

I hadn't believed him when he claimed to have no intention of going near the Dragon. At least, I hadn't believed he could complete the task without going near it. Well, now I know better. His performance also served to raise my interest even more.

His second and last offer of a date was a sweet one, especially compared to the countless morons that came before and after him. Two flowers; simple yet showcasing his talents once again with the Switching charm applied so fluidly as if to appear transfiguration.

His return to my table fifteen minutes later was a surprise but not as much as the reason behind it. His deduction of my knowledge in enchanting, again, surprised me and I said yes after a quick look to his design.

 _That_ may have been a mistake but in hindsight, a mistake I don't regret.

Even while his back was turned, hearing the slight desperation in his voice as he told the story of how he killed a Basilisk- a d'Arc-be-damned Basilisk- pulled at my heartstrings in all the right places and I found myself getting dressed the next morning in a hurry once again.

Second strike.

What sealed the deal in my mind and what made my attraction to him undeniable was watching him dance with another girl, ignoring my presence completely as he laughed with her. I ended up in his bed. Again. And I couldn't even blame the alcohol this time as I went to _him_ with the purpose of seducing him before I was even tipsy.

Yes, obsession is the right word, I think.

And now, I miss his smell as I lay in my bed in France when it was only yesterday we said goodbye to each other.

How did I end up like this? Dating… No, not dating. Regularly sleeping with a boy- because he is a boy even if he acts like he finds the term insulting- who is my competition and the darling of British Magical World?

How will I explain this when it inevitably comes out? I don't believe for a second we could keep it a secret; and even if we did, for how long? He's right in that everything he does is under scrutiny and I'm not a stranger to the spotlight either.

What will my mother say? What would dad think? What sinister lies will the public come up with when they find out the Boy-Who-Lived is dating an older Veela?

Life isn't supposed to be this complicated.

 **-FD-**

 **January 5, 1995**

"Fleur! Are you ready?" Gabrielle shouts from downstairs, excited to eat at a high-grade restaurant like an adult. The adorable little troublemaker is always excited and sometimes, it is difficult to keep up with her.

Still, I love her dearly, more so than I ever loved or can love anyone and am happy to suffer the exhaustion. "Yes, yes! Stop shouting, you hyperactive little devil!" I yell back, knowing how much she hates when anyone calls her 'devil.'

I hear her muffled, age-appropriate curse and turn back to the dressing mirror with a smile on my lips. To say I look good would be an understatement and before I can stop myself, an image of Harry's face when he saw me in my dress before the ball flashes before my eyes.

Shit.

"Aimee!" Gabrielle squeals, drawing me out of my reluctant fantasy. "Are you excited to eat at Le Gabriel?"

"I sure am," Aimee responds just as enthusiastically as I descend the stairs. Those two are so alike, I sometimes worry Gabrielle is more like Aimee than me. But then again, maybe that's why I get along so well with both energetic girls. "Are you sure you are up to this, little angel? This is an adult restaurant with boring food even if you share a name with the chef."

Gabrielle huffs and I wonder if it's at her second most hated nickname or in exasperation at the question. I reach the first floor just in time to see Gabrielle stick out her tongue at my fellow champion and snicker, gaining both their attention and the three parents'; my mother, father and Aimee's father. Sadly, her mother passed away in an unfortunate accident when we were twelve.

"You look beautiful, my darling," my father praises as I walk towards them with perfect posture, earning a nod from mother.

I don't get the chance to respond as Gabrielle butts in, "daddy's right. You look like you are going out to find a husband."

Aimee snorts from behind me. "I highly doubt it."

I turn around and glare at my friend, doing my best to suppress the blood rush to my cheeks.

"Oh? Did my darling daughter find herself a worthy boy in Britain?" I hear my mother drawl, her tone challenging and cutting, a far cry from her words.

"I didn't say that," Aimee answers in a high-pitched voice, a blush on her cheeks, though I doubt anyone believes her.

Gabrielle speaks again before anyone can, "who is it? Is he handsome? Is he smart? How old is…"

"If we don't leave soon, we will miss our reservation," father cuts in before she can ask the rest of her no doubt endless questions, making me look up at him with gratitude. He gives me a wink and turns around to lead us out of the modest three-storey we call home, to the small garden.

We live in south of Lyon and the restaurant is in Paris so this will be the longest distance I've apparated. I can't say I'm too excited about it as the distance means the quick journey will be even more jarring.

I hate apparating, preferring floo travel anytime but in this case, floo would mean ashes going in everywhere- I mean _everywhere_ , it's like sand- and that would ruin our dresses. Father checks his grip on the youngest of our group as she clings to him like a monkey, then he turns on the spot, disappearing with the softest bang, a testament to his experience with this form of transportation.

I turn on my heels and throw myself across the distance, ignoring my stomach's protests. A second that feels more like five minutes pass and I land lightly on my feet. I may not like apparating but I look damn good and composed when I do it. It may sound vein but that's something I can say without an ounce of doubt and I am proud of it. Even with magic I'm barely adequate at, I have an eerie talent to make things look effortless.

After checking myself to ensure everything is in place, I step out of the alley. When Aimee arrives five seconds later, we walk the short distance to the famous restaurant. Our wait is short thanks to a subtle charm placed on the staff by my father and a sommelier takes our drink orders after a few minutes of menu gazing.

The waiter, a blonde in his early twenties, arrives at our table to take orders, starting from my father, though his eyes rarely leave me. Normally, it wouldn't bother me but the intensity of his barely hidden glances make me double check that the charms on my bracelet are working.

This is the fourth time I've charmed a bracelet for this purpose and now, I'm proficient at it; this one taking only two hours and working perfectly.

When my turn comes, I give my order with a cold voice and with a glare, making it clear he needs to back off and earning me a look from mother for my behaviour.

I can hear the unsaid words in that look; 'a proper lady does not glare, Fleur,' 'never show emotion, Fleur.'

Gah!

As the waiter leaves the table, so does the silent tension brought on by my discomfort and conversation picks up again. The talk stays mostly focused on the work my father and Mr Beaufort do in Law Enforcement; with my father as the Head of Auror Division and Aimee's as the Head of Civil and Muggle Order Division.

For as long as I've known, our families have been close since both men entered the Auror Division around the same time and was partners for over fifteen years. They still work together closely for joint operations. Though they deny coordinating to make sure we were born around the same time but I don't buy it. If that's true, then the ten days difference between Aimee's birthday and mine is one hell of a coincidence.

I listen to the conversation with half an ear as we wait for the food so I miss whatever it is Mr Beaufort said to my father that has him, and everyone at our table, looking at me with surprise. I glance up from my wine glass when the silence settles and ask, "what?"

My father raises an eyebrow, but it's mother who speaks. "Is it true you took part in a duelling tournament? In Ibiza, no less?"

Oh, right. I didn't tell them about my brief jaunt to the island paradise. It wasn't because I was afraid they would be angry with me for duelling, a sport mother detests. I couldn't explain how I made the trip with my allowance without telling them about Harry.

I glance at Aimee, hoping for an inspiration or a way out of the conversation but find nothing but a hopeless shrug from my best friend. When I turn back, mother's disbelief has morphed into anger though my father's surprise is still there without judgement. "I did. I even made it to the second round though Anneliese Steinhäusl did defeat me soundly," I answer with a nonchalant shrug, playing down the affair as much as I can.

My father's other eyebrow joins the first as he leans forward on his seat, looking at me with wide-open eyes. "You duelled Steinhäusl the Charming? The legendary auror?"

I nod with a small smile, ignoring the narrowed eyes of mother in favour of my father's unbelieving enthusiasm. "I did, and she went on to win the tournament, defeating the likes of Filius Flitwick so I'm not too broken up about it."

"And why, pray tell, did you take part in a _duelling tournament_ of all things?" mother asks, her tone pinched and nostrils flaring.

"And more importantly, how was the tournament? Who else did you see duel or duelled against yourself?" Mr Beaufort jumps in. It's obvious from the excitement in his eyes he has been dying to ask me countless questions about the event.

I glare at mother, challenging her. "Because I wanted to test myself to see if I'm ready for the duelling portion of the Triwizard Tournament. I didn't want to get caught flat-footed when I walk onto the stage," I answer, before turning my attention to my best friend's father. "Well, I watched Johan Hoff, Elizabeth Wangen, Leonardo D'alto, Leopoldo Paola, Cenk Gözüpek and Camelia Cèspedes. Flitwick and Steinhäusl were the most impressive though. Professor Flitwick is incredibly fast, both at his feet and with his spell casting and Steinhäusl used many spells no one heard of."

"I bet. If the rumours are true, she has the uncanny ability to craft spells on the go which would make every spell she casts unheard of until she casts," my father explains with a snort.

"I heard Harry Potter was in the tournament too," Mr Beaufort speaks, leadingly. I glance around to see Aimee with a hand on her mouth, trying to hide her laughter while my father leans further on his seat, apparently interested in the gossip about the famous boy. Gabrielle listens to the conversation in rapt attention though I doubt she understands the tension between mother and me or why the two men are so curious about a bunch of people with foreign names.

"He was. He lost to his teacher in Quarter Finals." I keep my answer short, hoping to avoid further mention of Harry unless I let on the full extend of my knowledge about his talents and activities.

"Was he as good as Daily Prophet made him out to be? I know his performance in the first task was impressive if my men in rotation in Britain to be believed," my father asks.

I hear Aimee snort but refuse to look her way lest I put her on the spot. I am capable of spinning my way out of this mess but my friend is a notoriously bad liar, unable to keep from blushing whenever she tells lies or half-truths. "Definitely," I say with conviction. "He was undefeated until Flitwick stunned him with a blind shot after fifteen minutes. I doubt I can defeat him in our duel unless I train harder than he already does, and he spends most of his time training."

"You make it sound like this professor, Flitwick, defeated him by luck," mother comments dismissively, suspicion leaking from her voice and features.

I consider my answer for a moment. "I think the professor would have won either way, but he himself confessed that the stunner that took Harry out was cast blindly as the boy was invisible."

Mother snorts, causing me to roll my eyes at her unsurprisingly dismissive attitude to a boy she doesn't even know yet. She opens her mouth to say something, a dangerous glint in her eyes, but the waiter chooses that moment to bring our food, smell alone making my mouth water.

I'm glad for the distraction because calling Harry by his first name was a mistake. Even while the rest of the night involves less dangerous subjects, the looks mother throws me is enough to inform me she caught my slip.

Shit.

 **-FD-**

 **January 7, 1995**

Returning to the Hogwarts is an experience I doubt is comparable to anything in the world. Now, I know I bad mouthed the school many times but now that I'm back; I realise how much of a home it feels like.

I love the palace that is Beauxbatons and doubt there are many buildings in the world, if any, that could compare to it in terms of beauty, not even Hogwarts. Yet, as the horseless carriages pull us to the castle proper after two weeks and as I watch the imposing castle loom over the mountain range, my breath hitches at its magnificence and warmth. Beauxbatons is beauty; cold and aloof while Hogwarts is down-to-earth, homey and… alive.

If I were to use a metaphor for the difference between two schools, I'd liken the palace to a model one can see in a magazine while the castle is the girl next door; not as pretty as the women in the papers yet has more character and is all the more real for it.

Perhaps that is why Briton Magicals love Hogwarts so much, refusing to allow a single bad word spoken against the school, while us, French, show a fraction of the same loyalty to our school. Because how can you compare love with fantasy?

I shake myself out of my musings and step out of the carriage as it pulls near the castle. The rain is pouring down from the skies vengefully, so I cast a targetless Water-Repelling charm, causing my wand to act as the handle of an invisible umbrella that keeps me dry.

Trudging through the muddy grounds reminds me why I complained so much about Britain and makes me chuckle as I finally reach the giant doors. Wordlessly ending the charm over my head, I cast a cleaning charm on my outer robes and boots as Aimee does the same next to me.

Samantha is an orphan, one of many living victims of the civil war in Britain that affected even the main continent, and elected to stay in the school despite Aimee's relentless invites to her family's home. She's the most studious one among us and choose the highly impressive library of Hogwarts.

We find her reading on the Hufflepuff table with a boy- British if my guess is correct- and absentmindedly eating dried grapes. Aimee is the first one to reach the table, skipping ahead of me and hugs the distracted girl out of her chair with the force of her momentum. "Sam! I've missed you."

I reach the still intertwined girls a few moments later to see a healthy blush on 'Sam's face. Apparently, the boy isn't just a friend she made in one of her long jaunts to the library.

Oh, goody! A teasing material.

Now, now. Don't be so quick to judge me. I've dealt with enough teasing from the collected girl to earn my chance at revenge. Still, I am patient enough to wait until the dark-haired boy with a similar blush on his face leaves the earshot.

"I missed you too, Pixie," Samantha responds once the two girls separate. "Welcome back to the jolly old Britain." She says the last part with a smirk aimed at me.

"It still rains. No wonder the Muggles worry about Global Warming. This country steals all the rain from the rest of the world," I joke with my nose in the air.

Don't worry, I'm not a Muggle hater and even find most of their accomplishments inspiring, especially in arts and telecommunication. But, they know so little about the world compared to us, Magicals, that I can't find their fear of rising temperatures to be adorable.

The shorter girl and I hug before I take a seat next to her after taking off my outer robe while Aimee walks over to the other side and sits next to the silent boy. "Who are you?" the excitable girl asks without a preamble, a big smile on her face to ease the boy's mind.

"Ken- eh- Kenneth O'Marley," the boy answers, his nervousness clear across his whole being, not just his stutter.

Aimee's large smile turns to a gentle one of warmth. "And I'm Aimee Beaufort. Nice to meet you." She shakes the boy's hand before pointing at me with her thumb. "And that po-faced beauty is Fleur Delacour. Don't let her cold looks fool you. Deep down, she's a sweetheart." Boy nods at me but turns back to Aimee with a look of disbelief at her last words.

I can't help snort at the look of the boy and Aimee's next words. "It's buried very, very deep. Archeologists are still searching for it."

Kenneth nods as if that makes any sense. "Well, nice- eh- nice to meet you both."

"You too, Kenneth," I respond, shocking the boy once again, then turn to Samantha who was watching us with an amused smile. "So, how was Hogwarts without your two best friends to entertain you?"

"Wouldn't you know? Hogwarts is more fun without you two," she answers.

"Now, I'd believe it if you didn't include me in the fun-hating group," Aimee answers before throwing a grape in her mouth, eating it with a smirk.

I sniff and turn away from them. "I'll have you know I'm one of the most fun people to have around." My lips curl down in a pout when they snort in disbelief. "I am too."

"While I'm sure some people may think so," Samantha begins, giving me a pointed look. "The rest of the world, a group I'd like to call 'normals,' think spending your time complaining about everything and sneering at most male population is outside the scopes of what we call 'fun.'"

"Speaking of, what did your parents say about the duelling tournament and…" she trails off, glancing at the reading boy next to her.

I huff at the reminder and shrug. "My father was enthusiastic about hearing more about my duels and teaching me a few hexes. I think he enjoys finally being able to teach me magic, even just a few simple spells." I glare at Aimee as I continue. "Mother, on the other hand, needled me about whether I met any boys with some well-planned entrapping questions, reminding me how a lady should act and so on. Thank god she'll have no time to visit anytime soon, with Grandma still on vacation in Sydney and no one else to focus on the store."

"I think your grandmother deserves a gift for her well-timed vacation," Samantha comments not-so sarcastically. "What? Your mother is a cold-hearted bitch," she says with brutal honesty when I glance at her.

I consider getting angry but decide against it. "Meh. Can't deny there is truth to it."

A group of men, their ages ranging from mid-twenties to late thirties, enters the hall, laughing uproariously and drawing our attention. None of them are school age which makes me wonder why they are here but I shrug my curiosity off, turning my attention back to my friends.

"Who do you think they are?" Aimee whispers, leaning forward.

Oddly, it's Kenneth who answers, reminding us of his presence. "Curse breakers from Gringotts." He eeps and blushes when we turn our attention to him. "They've been here for the past two days, doing something in Black Lake."

"That reminds me, what do you think they'll take from you?" Samantha asks in a hushed voice.

Aimee and I shrug at the same time then grin at each other. "I don't know but they better stay out of my jewellery box," Aimee says, trying to sound threatening but failing miserably. Instead, she just looks cuter, making us snicker. "Don't laugh! I'm serious. If one piece from that box goes missing, I might rip someone's arms off."

We laugh harder. "As long as you don't go around slapping people with your flippers," Samantha answers once she stops laughing, causing me to laugh even harder.

"I'm not a penguin!" Aimee yells with a red face, attracting attention. She buries her head in her hands. "I hate you both."

I don't care what she says, her repeated reaction to seeing snow proves she is part penguin.

"Na-ah, you love us," I pat her on the arm, misjudging and pushing her hands as her head hits the table due to sudden loss of support.

Samantha's high-pitched laughter attracts even more attention while I put a hand on my mouth to stop myself from laughing, knowing I'm guilty enough as it is.

"Ow!" Aimee cries rubbing her forehead and glaring at me. "Why would I love you when all you do is insult me, laugh at me and abuse me?"

"Because I'm cute?" I ask, giving her a doe-eyed look with a charming smile.

She snorts and shakes her head at me. "Yeah. Look at that face. How can I ever stay mad at you?"

"No one can," I answer with absolute certainty, enjoying the simple banter while I have less eyes on me thanks to the holidays.

Samantha opens her mouth but is interrupted by a throat clearing from behind me. Even without turning, I can guess what's coming. I school my face and turn around. It's a redheaded boy, one of the curse breakers if I have to guess as he looks far too old to be in school, mid-twenties at least. "Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Bill. Bill Weasley," he introduces himself as takes a seat next to me, earning a raised eyebrow from me at the presumptuousness. "I was sitting two tables over when I heard you and thought I should come over and assure you I think you are absolutely stunning." He finishes with a charming smile I'm sure would have my panties on the floor if I were anyone else. Especially with his roguish looks.

"And I looked stupid enough not to recognise my beauty when I look into a mirror?" I ask, my tone barely polite.

"Even mirrors can't convey your beauty enough," he disagrees, his smile widening despite the cold welcome. I say nothing, giving him a bored look that has no effect on him. "I never got your name."

I sigh. At least he's not drooling or yelling at me like his brother did.

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 2: Wasted Genius**

 **January 11, 1995**

The Weasley Twins, or as I'd like to call them: Pettigrew twins, are geniuses. There is no denying that. I may dislike their high-handed methods and attitude towards me since my coming out party à la Halloween curse, but I can't deny there is a method to their madness.

I've seen many of their pranks in action over the years and considering the low budget they are working with, the products they developed have superb quality and effects that would have any entertainer salivating.

And they prove their brand of genius, much to my annoyance, once again in the form of a spiked tea.

It happens when Hermione asks what I did after the tournament in Spain. I open my mouth with intent to share details of my trip to New York and Salem. "I don't take coffee, I take tea, my dear. I like my toast done on one side," I sing, my eyes wide as my lips disobeys my command. "And you can hear it in my accent when I talk; I'm an Englishman in New York."

"Okay," Hermione says to my serenade, rolling her eyes. "A simple New York would have sufficed. No need to bring Sting into it."

"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing," I answer, my voice cracking as I, or more accurately, my mouth tries to imitate Nina Simone's wonderful voice. "It don't mean a thing; all you got to do is sing!"

Ron snickers next to me, joined by Neville and Katie and soon, everyone around me. I look around, confusion and surprise dominating my features until my eyes happen upon the twins' smug grins as they laugh at me.

Still, anger isn't my first response. No, my first response is a grudging respect because the magic controlling my mouth right now is a masterpiece. It isn't Cantis jinx. That makes the target sing a song of the caster's choosing and is easy to counter. No, this is different.

I have complete control of my brain functions but my mouth responds only in songs I know by heart which means the magic is affecting my mind as well and that's all kinds of troubling.

Whether they know it, the idiot duo is testing my Occlumency and now that I know exactly what kind of magic I am up against, I should be able to resist. At least, in theory, because no matter how prestigious I am in many forms of magic, Occlumency is one that requires discipline and organised mind while I am prodigious in many areas of magic; disciplined, I am not, and more importantly, my mind is far from organised.

One thing I have going for me is I am far too stubborn to fail at something so important, at least in the long term, so I put on a gargantuan effort to my next words, limiting the magic's effect on me to single words and phrases instead of complete verses. "I. Think. Someone," I say in broken sentences and with great effort, my voice changing from tone to tone depending on the song I choose the words from. I nod towards the twins. "Put a spell on. Me."

"I gathered that much," Hermione says, holding her snickers with great effort if the redness of her face is any sign. I love that girl. She'd never laugh at my plight. "A visit to Madam Pomfrey is in order, don't you think?"

I nod, refusing to open my mouth more than necessary. The twins got me good this time and deserve a good revenge. I must plan. And when I'm done, they will wish they never crossed me.

Hermione gives me a worried look as we traverse the corridors in search of a cure, my crazy laughter alarming her.

 **-HP-**

 **January 13, 1995**

I've done it. After three days of research, a lot of begging Hermione to brew a relatively unknown potion, modifying spells and conducting small test runs to see if the complicated pieces of magic would work together; my plan is in motion.

The idea itself is not original and it needn't be. I just took the twins' latest prank on me and made it better. Now, all I have to do is wait for them to come to breakfast and when they walk past the threshold to Great Hall, they will feel my wrath.

Before I can practise my evil laughter, a yawn escapes me again so I take a large sip of my disgustingly sweet tea to stay awake. I've spent much of last night casting necessary magic and forcing the sleeping twins to drink the necessary potion. It took time and sneaking around, causing me to lose sleep though if it works, and I have no reason to fear it won't, it will be worth it.

"I can't believe you convinced me to help you in your harebrained scheme," Hermione complains again, looking around to see if there are any professors spying.

"Now, now, Hermione. We both know you enjoy a good rule-breaking session as much as I do," I drawl, fighting off another yawn. "Don't pretend otherwise."

"I do not!" she exclaims, scandalised.

Ron snorts unbelievingly. "This comes from the girl who used a time-turner to spend extra time in library and brewed a highly illegal potion to sneak into Slytherin base."

I nod in agreement to my best friend's words. "Ron's right. You are a rule-breaker. If anything, you are worse than I am."

Hermione shakes her head. "No way. You have _no respect_ for the rules. I at least adhere to the _spirit_ with which they were written."

"That's even worse," I disagree. "I admit, I care little for rules that don't pertain to the wellbeing of others while you care a great deal about them yet you still break it." I think of a good metaphor. "It's like cheating on a spouse. I cheat on a wife I don't like while you cheat on a husband you love. Mine is a marriage of convenience and neither side expects devotion."

Next to me, Ron gasps in an exaggerated shock, pointing an accusing finger at the exasperated girl. "You _are_ a cheater! I can't believe I thought you were a good girl."

Hermione sniffs and looks away, corners of her mouth twitching up though she fights the smile. Ron and I grin at each other before turning back to our plates.

I spy the twins from the doorway and look around the hall and see there are enough witnesses. Good. I want their humiliation to go down in history. It is tiring to have to expect attacks from all corners, and I hope this will serve as a reminder to everyone I'm not to be trifled with.

The duo stop single step into the hall, a confused expression on their faces. That is the Jelly-Brain jinx, muddling their mind, making it harder for them to think and easier for my magic to take hold.

A second later, a puff of smoke erupts from the ground and form around them, revealing their changed attires when it dissolves. Instead of the usual school robes, they are now wearing corsets, one in pink, the other in powder blue; each completed with skin-tight pants and high-heels. I don't know if you knew it but Riddikulus doesn't work only on Boggarts. It affects the appearance of any living thing.

Their groggy looks and new appearance garner laughter from the student population but this far from over. As soon as the crowd settles and laughters trickle down to snickers, I whisper, "Dobby, begin."

The Cantis jinx takes hold and due take a step forward with open arms, courtesy of potion-induced Vodoun magic. It is a difficult brand of magic and one I'm not immediately familiar with but I know enough tricks to make the next part. Dobby will make the dolls dance, and with the help of two representative dolls I supplied and potion I've used to link the dolls to them, the boys will copy the moves.

Peter and Peter open their mouths and begin their song; It's Raining Men by The Weather Girls.

They dance; and even though there is no music in the background, they sing the lyrics with enough enthusiasm to entertain the masses. A few girls I know to be Muggleborn even sing along with them though in much lower voices.

The boy dance their way to the staff table and finish the song, and their dance, with coordinated bows, wide smiles and blank eyes. It is a bit eerie to be honest, the emptiness in their eyes as if there were no souls behind them.

They turn around and skip in front of Snape. Both pull off their left hand middle finger and put it on the table with great care, making sure both fingers stand straight. "Please accept this heart-felt song and the fingers we give you, oh, mighty Lord of Grease."

Snape turns to me, guessing correctly I'm responsible, with a fierce glare promising a detention and an arduous Occlumency session.

Who says a prank can't be useful?

The moment the zombie boys take a step back, the magic affecting them ends, and a horrified look crosses their faces as they look around the hall, then at each other. The moment their eyes find their hands, they give a horrified scream before turning to me with a similar glare to Snape's.

There is a reason I chose to improve their prank instead of coming up with an original idea and the message is clear: 'anything you can do, I can do better.'

Meanwhile, the spectators laugh harder and harder as the twins' reaction gets funnier and funnier while I reward the comedy duo with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Ah, I love the sounds of horrified screams and degrading laughter in the mornings.

 **-HP-**

 **January 14, 1995**

"Come in!"

I enter the potions' master's office and take a seat in front of his desk, ignoring the glare he's shooting at me with practised ease. "Good evening, Professor. How are you this lovely day?"

Oh, he's definitely angry, his nostrils widening and eyes narrowing. "When we agreed on this detention scheme as a cover for Occlumency training, insulting me wasn't what I had in mind, Potter."

"I needed a detention and the prank on the twins was already in plans so I used the opportunity," I explain with a careless shrug.

"I'd have given you detention either way," he snarls. "You didn't need to involve me in your immature joke."

"And you don't need to be an arsehole yet, here we are," I respond, angering the man further with my disrespect.

" _Legilimens_!"

The attack on my mind is sudden, vicious and unending, banging against my head with a vengeance. Still, the moment the accursed word leaves his lips, my mind is firmly on a wildlife documentary I watched a few years ago.

Let's see if he can find a way into my mind through a footage of a butterfly's life cycle, from birth to metamorphosis and death.

It still takes a lot of effort, keeping my mind on such a boring thing as the caterpillar morphs into a beautiful butterfly in agonising slowness. To be honest, the result is beautiful; a butterfly with silvery yellow wings, two sky-blue dots on them, reminding me of eyes.

Eyes so beautiful, they remind me Fleur, especially with the silvery yellow wings surrounding them.

She's been distant lately. Well, distant is not the right word. She has been ignoring me to such a degree that she changes directions as soon as we run into each other, refusing to even look at me.

Something's changed and not knowing hurts.

Considering the closeness we shared before she returned to France… Wait!

Dammit! Focus, Potter!

Butterfly returns to its cocoon and slowly reverts to an ugly caterpillar. Good, that ugly creature cannot remind me Fleur. Ever.

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes, Fleur's inexplicable behaviour. I've been hearing rumours lately of someone asking Fleur out on a date but I haven't been able to divine who…

Oh, for fuck's sake! Snape's attack is definitely stronger than our first session as this is the twice he manipulated my mind with an eerie skill. However he's doing it, his influence is almost impossible to identify.

With a great effort, I throw him out of my mind and I slump on the chair, breathing heavily from exertion and a small headache. A few minutes pass by in silence as I gather myself and go over the experience. The butterfly I saw in the tele had pink wings with yellow dots all over it. Somehow, Snape changed the colours to remind me of Fleur and used that feeble connection to make me relive other moments relating to the cold girl.

Impressive.

What's more impressive is his second try at manipulating me back to Fleur and no matter how much I try, I can't find the thread back to his mind. "That was different," I comment once my breathing allows me to speak. "Impressive though."

The corners of his mouth curve up in an ugly smirk, enjoying my suffering. "Different how?"

"The only other time we've done this, you used my emotions to draw forth memories attached to those emotions. This time, you changed a part of my memory to draw a connection to what you wanted to see."

"Indeed," he drawls with a nod, his elbows resting on the table, hands clenched with his chin resting on them. "That is what a Master Legilimens does. Manipulate unimportant details in memories to facilitate a correlation so the subject will reveal the desired information without realising the manipulation and connection. It is immensely difficult to defend against and the only tool an Occlumens has against it is control of his own mind to recognise the changes, the manipulations."

Scary.

No, really. It means I have to be aware of every detail in every memory to ensure I recognise the changes. _That_ is impossible which means I will always be open to mental manipulation, liable to betray my secrets. And if Snape can do so with such ease, I shudder to think how much control Voldemort can exude in my mind.

It means a Legilimens can, if talented enough, change the perception of reality of a target. A rapist could make his victim believe she loves him; a sufficiently motivated person can manipulate someone who's feeling down into committing suicide.

I don't think sleep will come easy tonight.

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 3: Saving People Thing**

 **January 21, 1995**

According to the organisers of this tournament, it is a great idea for the water challenge to take place in Black Lake in the cold of January.

What a magnificent fucking idea!

If I find who came up with this idiotic idea, I will bash him in the head with a stick until he is dead. Or she is. Who says women can't come up with stupid ideas.

I'm all for women's rights.

Anyway, as I walk to the lake, I consider changing my philosophy about this tournament from 'I should win it' to 'fuck it, I should go back to my warm bed'. It takes effort but I convince myself the potential ramifications of the contract breach isn't worth the temporary discomfort of having to walk around with Warming charm cast all over myself.

It itches something fierce and the desire to scratch every inch of my body is difficult to fight.

Once I am on the shore of the lake and the boat begins sailing at a lazy pace to one of the pier like things built just for this tournament, I let my mind wander.

I do that a lot lately, letting my mind wander.

I admit, the tournament isn't the only reason I am not my usual happy self. Fleur has been colder last two weeks since my return to Hogwarts. We were fine before she portkeyed to France but since I returned from the States, she's been distant. I am not clueless about what the fuck is going on with her. I tried to find out from her. I did, but she is avoiding me and…

It wasn't hard to figure out the reason. As the reason came and bragged himself.

I don't know. Life shouldn't be this hard.

Other than that little pickle, life hasn't been that bad though. Like I hoped, Professor Flitwick agreed to help me with my duelling which has been going great. He really is a great teacher. I also dodged a bullet with my progress in Occlumency. Albus deemed my work satisfactory, allowing me to continue studying myself with semi-regular visits to Snape.

The boat hits the pier, or whatever you want to call the structure, with a thud and wakes me up from my musing. I step on the platform and stumble my way to the changing room to change into swimming clothes.

The changing room is warm thanks to the charms applied beforehand so I refuse to leave until fifteen minutes before the challenge. As I step out of the tent-ish room, I see Aimee chatting amicably with Fleur while Viktor and Britt stand a few feet apart, imitating statues. I smile at Aimee and sit down next to where Cedric is sitting with his legs dangling. "Are you ready for the challenge, young Mr Diggory?"

He gives me an awkward smile. "Are you doing the Dumbledore bit again?"

"Nah. I like the way he talks. It is condescending and kind at the same time. It puts people off their game so it's fun."

"Yeah, I'm ready. I just hope Cho is doing okay."

Oh, yeah. The latest brightest idea of organisers is putting a hostage for each of the champion under the lake. I'll hold off my comments on that.

"She'll be fine. I imagine you'll find rescuing her very rewarding."

He chuckles at that. "Yeah. What about you? Who's your hostage?"

"It's Ron, I think. He's been missing since yesterday. I don't think he'll be rewarding me the same way though."

"That's a shame. You two would make a cute couple."

"I imagine I could do better than him if I was gay," I say with my head held high. "Oh, and fuck you."

"You say you aren't gay but then go around saying things like that," Cedric says with a large smile and a shake of his head.

Good. He should stay calm lest he freaks out under water when the stakes are high.

We continue to joke around while we wait for the next fifteen minutes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second task of the Triwizard tournament."

I ignore him in favour of getting out of the robe I put on to keep the chill out. I consider casting a Warming charm on my skin but the idea fills me with dread so I hop from one foot to the other and stretch.

"The champions have two objectives today. One is to find the brooms they will use in the next task hidden among the merpeople. Nimbus Racing Company donated six of their new model, Nimbus X for our champions use. Their second, and more important, task is to rescue their loved ones from captivity. They have their work cut out for them; that's for sure. If the champions are ready?" He looks our way for the first time. "In three, two, one. Begin!"

I watch as the other five champions dive in to the lake and wait for another minute to make sure they are out of the way before turning around and transfiguring the robe I had into shoes with smooth undersides. After casting a Freezing charm under the shoes, I jump into the water. Once I am sure the ice forming as soon as my feet touch the water won't break due to my weight, I walk towards the middle of the lake and reapplying the Freezing charm continuously for the next ten minutes, until I am near the top of the merpeople village.

I cut out a piece of ice and transfigure my shoes to a pair of flippers before casting a bubblehead charm and diving in. I swim down without a problem until a pack of grindylows jump out of weeds, their teeth barred and webbed claws stretched in my direction. These little water demons are not much of a problem for two reasons. First, the most their teeth and hands can penetrate my skin is a few inches, nothing life threatening. Second, they hate warm water. It takes two minutes to get rid of the dozen blighters by casting a strong Warming charm on the surrounding water.

As soon as my path is clear, I continue my downward movement and find the village merpeople built for themselves. Well, built is not the right word. They carved large rocks to keep other dangers of the waters away. It must be a cultural thing as well because there really aren't dangerous creatures in the Black Lake.

I swim between their 'houses' as the merpeople watch me as if I am a circus act. People above water are doing the same on the screens so I can't blame them. I wave at a few them and continue swimming until I am in the village's centre. There, on a wooden broom stand; six beautiful brooms with silver casings and golden twigs.

I take one broom and turn towards where I assume the hostages are to find myself face to face with a certain beautiful mermaid with dark hair and a nice pair of... Never mind. She smiles at me and takes off her bra made of seaweeds as she had done last year. I gulp down my reflexive reaction and point to an omnicular that has been following me around.

She must understand what the device does because she rushes away as if a monster is chasing her, a green tinge on her cheeks.

One thing is for sure, I handled her better this time.

I shrink the broom, put it in my pocket and swim away with a smile on my face. Next ten minutes go by with little fanfare. At least, for me. I come across two large packs of grindylows. The first pack, I handle with no problems. The second pack I come across is fighting Fleur who is using a piece of cloth as a breathing apparatus.

The fight is not going Fleur's way. Her spell work is sloppy and ineffective, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. I consider helping her but decide against it. She's my competition and if her behaviour towards me lately is anything to go by, she's not a friend either.

I continue my way without a second glance. Ten minutes later, a bad feeling creeps up on me. Something is off. I didn't come across anything alive since I swam past Fleur. The reason becomes clear as I make way over a small hill and come across a Sea Serpent as big as the Basilisk in the chamber was.

Sea Serpents are not aggressive creatures and are generally amiable towards humans but they are still dangerous.

You know what? Here is a little tip for you adventurous people, consider every creature that can eat you without chewing dangerous.

Before I can even wish to pass it by without it realising, it turns to make and stares me down as if considering whether to play with me or eat me. I need to distract him somehow before it decides so I conjure fifty colourful fishes to keep it interested and swim away as fast as I can.

Conjuring this many animate objects at once is a bitch but I'll survive.

Another fifteen minutes go by involving only one clash with yet another group of grindylows before I reach where the hostages are to find them surrounded by six sirens, three of both sexes.

It is a common misconception that sirens are always female and the males of the species are as attractive as their counterparts. The difference between sirens and mermaids are easy to identify. While mermaids can be just as beautiful or handsome as sirens, their voices can't turn you to a horny, brainless zombie. And mermaids don't have gorgeous golden eyes.

As soon as they see me, the three females showcase their voices while the males turn around to give us a semblance of privacy. I have to say, their singing voice is great and the one on the left with white blonde hair is very sexy.

I shake my head and continue swimming until I am past them. All six hostages are tied to iron posts with ropes. I recognise Ron, Hermione, Cho and Samantha though the little blonde girl looks like a younger, eight years old Fleur.

I cut Ron free and turn around to find the Sirens glaring at me as if I offended them somehow. I smile at them as I swim away, one hand on Ron's arm. I am almost out of the seeing range before a thought hits me. What will happen to the hostages if the champions are unable to save them? Fleur is an example that comes to mind.

I really don't believe Dumbledore would let them die. I am sure of it. But, my conscience doesn't let me swim away without giving them one last glance so I turn around to find the blonde siren poke at the little girl with her trident as the other two females shake their shoulders as if laughing.

That wasn't a kind thing to do.

I'd say they are bored and having fun but as I continue to watch, they keep poking the same girl repeatedly, not even sparing a glance at other four hostages.

Oh, shit.

I made the connection. Sirens like to charm unsuspecting fools. A similar talent to what veelas have. When you consider that veelas have an affinity to fire and sirens have an affinity to water, I can understand how they would consider each other natural enemies, hunters who like same preys.

While I know Dumbledore and the whatever committee that organised this tournament have no intention of letting any non-competitor get hurt, it isn't out of the realm of possibilities for them to have overlooked this small but crucial detail.

Fuck. I will do the stupid yet heroic thing again, won't I?

I let go of Ron and make sure he isn't moving anywhere before swimming back to the hostages. The sirens are surprised to see me again but they aren't doing anything offensive yet. I swim to the little girl and cut her free. As I am about to take her hand to lead her away, something sharp, probably a trident, pokes at my lower back. I turn around to find all six of the sirens glaring at me and waving their fingers threateningly.

"I am taking her with me. Either move or die." Thank god for the bubblehead charm or I wouldn't be able to speak.

"No. One hostage only," one of the male sirens answer in a gruff voice.

I push the trident away and glare at the feral creatures. "You have five seconds to lower your weapons. At the end of five seconds, you die." I raise my wand. "One. Two..."

They lower their tridents and I swim away as soon as I have a firm hold on the girl's wrist. I lead her to where Ron is and use a temporary sticking charm on their hands to keep my right hand free to use my wand. It will be hard to swim with both but I will have to make do.

I swim towards the surface, putting much more effort but still slower than before. It takes five minutes for me to get tired so I take a small break. Being ahead of other champions definitely has its advantages. I let go of the girl's ankle and massage my legs. As I am about to take the girl's hand again, I see a glimpse of silver underneath me.

That doesn't seem right. I look down to see the silver-haired siren, stretching back with her hand on the trident.

I act without thinking once again and push the girl out of the weapon's route. She drags Ron away with her, taking him with her to safety. I somehow make a full turn because of the momentum and feel a tingling in my back. That's odd.

I try to turn to face the siren again but I am off-balance and my eyes are out of focus. Something is wrong. I shake my head stupidly to help my eyes focus but it accomplishes nothing.

First, get rid of the siren. Then figure out why I suddenly have a visual impairment.

I tighten my grip on my wand and cast half a dozen of cutting curses towards where I can vaguely see the shape of the siren. That should be enough to keep her scared for a while. I try to move towards Ron and the girl but my muscles aren't working properly. Something is definitely wrong. I blindly feel behind me to understand what the problem is and touch something woody.

Oh, right. The trident. And suddenly, pain.

I writhe in pain for a while before another thought hits me: Ron and the girl. I have to figure out a way to send them above water. Especially the girl. The sirens proved themselves dangerous and I will not let either of them get hurt because of the organisers' fuck-up.

The problem is, I can't swim, let alone carry two people with me. I'm not sure I have the time anyway if the amount of blood that dirties the surrounding water is any sign.

What to do? What to do?

I can conjure fish and use a leash to have them drag the two to the surface?

No, that only works in comic books.

Can I conjure a submarine?

Dammit, focus!

Okay, I need a method of transporting two people to the surface as fast as possible. I can't side-along apparate both. I learned how to apparate only this summer and I can't risk leaving behind an arm or a leg.

I haven't created a portkey before but I know the theory. I think I can do that successfully and portkeys don't really care how many people use them.

Portkey it is. I move towards the two hostages with moves that probably looks retarded but hey; you try to move underwater with a trident sticking out of your back! It takes me ages to reach them which means probably only a minute passed. I look around for anything I can charm to act as a portkey but find nothing. I am already tired and my vision is going black so a conjuration is out of option. If I have the strength in me for one magic, I have to use that for the portkey charm.

Flippers! I am wearing flippers. I take one off and focus on the destination and the activation conditions.

'Destination: the pier. Activation condition: in one minute.' I keep repeating the same thing over and over in my head before finally casting the charm and sticking it between the girl's hand and Ron's.

And I wait. The wait is a terrible thing. I am not sure if I did it properly and until I see them disappear, I don't take a breath in fear of messing with the portkey somehow. My vision continues to get darker and I can barely see anymore.

Just before the portkey activates, a thought hits me: 'I can take the portkey as well' but it's too late.

I pass out cursing myself.

 **-HP-**

 **January 23, 1995**

Waking up in pain in the hospital wing is one inevitable fact of life for me. I do it often. A couple times a year at least.

So, it isn't a surprise when I open my eyes on the bed that has long since adjusted to my body shape. Okay, that last part was a joke if you haven't noticed. I am a growing bo... growing man. Yes, man.

I hate laying face down so I turn around.

Poppy must sense my movements somehow because she is all over me in a manner of seconds. "You can't stay away, can you?"

I grin at her. "I missed your tender care and gentle hands on my body, Poppy."

"Shut up and turn around so I can check your new holes."

"Oh, yes, talk dirty to me." I turn around as ordered. "Tell me the scars look cool, please. I went through all that trouble to earn them."

"If you are well enough to make jokes, I assume you need no pain relievers?"

I sit up quickly and get dizzy. "Half the reason I love you is, you make my pain go bye-bye. It's like you are Magic."

"Lay back down before I stun you, boy."

I once again do as ordered. "I love it when you do the tough love act."

She hits my back not so softly. Thankfully, she avoided the wounds. "Will you stop?"

"Fine. What happened after I decided taking a nap underwater sounded like a great idea?"

"As soon as the trident hit you, a group of aurors jumped into action. They carried you out of the lake." Her hand moves on my back, checking the skin around the wounds and I feel a tingle of magic cast.

"How long was I out?"

"Just three days."

I laugh at her response. Particularly the word 'just.' "How are the hostages? The little girl and Ron?"

"The hostages are fine. The champions were a little banged up but except you nothing serious."

"Good."

"You can turn around now. Your wounds are fine."

I turn around and smile at her. "Are they cool?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Yes, they are cool. Does that mean you want to keep them as well?"

"Damn right. I earned them."

She looks at me uncomfortably for a moment. That's weird. She is never uncomfortable. "What is it?"

She hesitates before asking, "how did you make a portkey to Hogwarts grounds that got past the anti-portkey enchantments?"

Right. I made that portkey, and it worked. How did it work? "I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight, what with all the blood loss. Albus probably caught onto what I was doing so temporarily lifted the protections. There is a possibility I overpowered the portkey but I doubt it. That's close to impossible even for someone powerful like Albus and I was far too weak to even conjure something."

She nods but I can tell she's not sure about my theory. "Speaking of the headmaster, he wanted to speak with you."

"No problem. I have an hour or two in me. Can you have an elf bring food and something to drink? I am famished."

"Almost dying does that to you."

"Yeah, yeah. Just do as you are told, woman."

She glares at me, barely able to keep in her smile. "Do you want a spanking, Mr Potter?"

I smirk. "Are you offering?"

She shakes her head and leaves for her office.

Two minutes later, an elf pops into existence next to my bed and gives me a tray filled to the brim with food. She leaves without I can say thank you. Typical.

Albus arrives fifteen minutes later. "It is wonderful to see you awake and well, Harry."

I swallow my bite down and smile. "Thank you, Albus. Did you take down the anti-portkey jinx?"

He smiles kindly. "Yes, I did. I was curious about what your plan was when you removed your fascinating footwear. I thought maybe blood loss was making you delirious but when you put it in the young Miss Delacour's hand, I realised what you were planning. I lifted the jinx a second before your portkey activated."

"You weren't wrong exactly. I wasn't thinking straight. First idea I had was conjuring fishes and tying them to the hostages. I didn't even consider the jinx. I'm glad it worked though."

"An ingenious idea if I say so myself. Though I was surprised when you didn't take the portkey yourself."

I smile sheepishly. "I realised I could have just when the portkey activated. I was so sure I would die, I didn't consider what I could do to live."

His expression turns troubled at that. "Yes, I can't seem to keep you safe."

"Stop that." I glare at him fiercely. "Shit happens. I know you are doing all you can. I doubt you wanted hostages to be put under the lake, let alone one with veela heritage."

He says nothing to that.

I feel full so I put my tray to the small table beside my bed. "How about the task? What's the situation?"

His smile returns. "There was an uproar about what happened, especially from Daily Prophet, which resulted in arguments between the judges. You technically finished the task as did the four other champions. Only one to fail was Miss Delacour. I will announce everyone's points when you leave the hospital wing."

"Oh, good. I would hate for this silly tournament to get in the way of my fame."

Yay, sarcasm.

 **-HP-**

 **January 25, 1995**

"Harry! Are you okay? How is your wounds? Did madam Pomfrey say when you can leave? Are you an idiot? Taking someone else's hostage with you? Especially _that_ girl's hostage!"

I sometimes wonder whether Hermione discovered a way to breathe without actually breathing. "Calm down, Hermione. Yes, I am okay. My wounds are cool. Poppy said I can leave for dinner if I promise to come back for check-ups after breakfast and dinner for the next few days. I am a heroic idiot. Of course, I rescued her. Didn't you notice what those sirens were doing to the poor girl? And no, I didn't rescue her because she is Fleur's sister. I would've saved her even if she was Malfoy's sister."

Her cheek reddens while Ron, Neville and Katie snickers behind her. "Sorry. I was so worried. You have no right to worry us silly like that."

"Right. I'm sorry for worrying you with my injuries. Next time I get mortally injured, I will tell you not to worry before falling unconscious. Now, give me a hug. Do be careful though. Poppy may skin you alive if you cause me pain." I tilt my head and reconsider. "Or she'd offer you apprenticeship. I'm unsure."

After Hermione's hug, Katie follows while the two boys give me a gentlemen's pat on the shoulder. We are manly men.

"So, what's the word around Hogwarts?"

Katie jumps up and down on the chair she's sitting in excitement that lacks any real enthusiasm. "You are a hero again. Everyone is like 'I always knew how great he is.' Or 'the poor thing must be so alone in the hospital wing, maybe I should visit him in bed.' Those who say things similar to the second one are mostly girls."

"That's nice." My eyes widen. "Wait, mostly?"

She gives me a wide smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, I heard Colin and some other guys entertain the idea."

I groan as Ron adds, "Malfoy and his little gang are as usual but no one gives them a time of day."

Neville winks at me. "Twins are very subdued lately."

"Why is that?"

"Well, now that you are a hero once again, everyone suddenly realised what arseholes they've been to you."

Oh, goody.

"How have you guys been? Dealing with each other must have been difficult without my calming presence."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "We've been getting along rather well so it looks like you are the reason Ron and I fight so often."

I put my hand on my back. "You wound me, Hermione. There is now another hole in my body, right where my heart used to be."

"Don't even joke about that, you prat! Do you realise how scared we were?"

"I imagine Ron wasn't scared at all what with his unconsciousness."

Ron grins at me, then reddens when Neville says, "he was enjoying himself while you were bleeding out. As soon as he and the girl appeared on the pier, Fleur jumped on him and kissed him on the cheek which- surprise, surprise- turned him into a slobbering mess."

While the other three guffaw, Ron and have a hard time laughing for different reasons though we try.

I smile to Ron and pat him on the back. "Good for you, mate."

We sit in companionable silence until Hermione remembers the important things in life. "We should get to the class. We'll come back before dinner so we can walk together."

"Yeah, treat me like I'm disabled. I won't mind." I smile at her when she glowers. "I'm joking. Go. Learn things."

They all get up to leave except Katie who I stop with a hand on her arm. "Stay for a moment, please."

She looks at me with worried eyes. "What is it, James?"

"Are you okay? You seem off."

She says nothing but I can see tears pooling in her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever it is, it'll be fine."

She jumps on me and lets her tears fall on my shoulder. "I thought... I thought you died! When they brought you out of the lake, you weren't moving, you weren't breathing. Blood everywhere. I was so scared."

I put my arms around her and move my hand up and down on her spine to calm her down. "I'm okay. Did you really think I would let a silly little thing like three extra holes on my back and an extreme blood loss kill me?"

She half sobs, half laughs at my joke. "It was so horrible. Madam Pomfrey was treating you furiously. Even McGonagall was near tears."

"Well, I have to keep the tradition alive."

"What," sniff, "tradition?" Sniff.

"I can't just let a year in Hogwarts pass without almost dying at least two or three times. It's a tradition I have to uphold."

Her arms tighten around my neck but she giggles. "I don't like that tradition."

She rearranges her position on the bed and lays next to me, her head buried on my chest. We lay silent for some time. I don't want her to get any ideas but I can tell she needs this; she needs to make sure I am alive and well. So I let her do as she wishes.

We don't move until the door to the infirmary opens. Katie is out of the bed so fast I worry she might get vertigo.

Fleur, her sister and a middle-aged man with blond hair a shade or two darker than Fleur's enter the infirmary and walk over to my bed after a glance around. "Mr Potter, I am glad you are doing well." The man speaking is anything but average which explains why Fleur considers herself a 'quarter' veela. Her veela heritage must have come from her paternal grandmother. Even though the blonde man is around my height, he looks like a model, especially with his high cheekbones and light blue eyes.

If I was gay, I'd tap that.

"Thank you, Mr?"

"Forgive me. Where are my manners? I am Sebastian Delacour. Fleur's father. And this is Gabrielle." He points to the angelic girl who is shying behind his legs, her head buried into her father's dark brown coat, before holding out his hand for me to shake.

Fleur... She is her usual public self; aloof, haughty and utterly gorgeous.

I sit up in my bed to shake his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr Delacour."

"I came to Hogwarts to watch my older daughter compete, Mr Potter, but I had to watch as you almost died to protect my younger daughter. You have my gratitude. If there is anything I can do for you, you need but to ask." He takes two steps back once I let go of his hand.

"Your gratitude is more than enough."

Katie cuts in before he can say anything else, "I should go. I already missed charms. If I miss Transfiguration too, McGonagall is sure to have me in detention for a month."

Her face shows how uncomfortable she is so I don't object. "Sure. Tell her I said 'hi kitty.' I'll see you at dinner." I wait until Katie leaves before focusing back on the middle-aged man. "Fleur tells me you are the Head Auror of the French."

His looks at Fleur with widened eyes like he had not expected her to have contact with me, let alone telling me about her family. "Yes, that is correct, Mr Potter."

"You may choose not to take this seriously but I feel like I should give you this warning. Troubling times are coming, Mr Delacour. I think, for the sake of your country, you should increase your numbers and make sure your men are well trained."

He focuses back on me with narrowed eyes. "Are you talking about what happened with the Death Eaters after the World Cup finals?"

"No. They were a bunch of drunken idiots who thought attacking defenceless people would make for a fun night. What I am talking about is serious. I wish I could be more forthcoming but I don't know you and while I am sure you are a fine man, I can't share any more than that."

He considers me for a moment before nodding. "I appreciate the warning, Mr Potter. I will take it under advisement."

"I sincerely hope you do."

"I should go. Speedy recoveries, Mr Potter." He turns around to leave with the little girl.

"That upsetting," I say in a joking tone. "There is a beautiful angel here yet she doesn't even talk." Mr Delacour stiffens as do Fleur. I ignore their reaction. "Gabrielle, the patron angel of communication yet she doesn't speak."

The little girl can't seem to decide whether to be shy or coy so she reddens and giggles at the same time.

"She's alive!"

That gets a verbal reaction. "Of course, I'm alive, silly." Her voice has a musical quality to it like her sister's, a tinge of nature's alluring song though where Fleur's voice induces desire, Gabrielle's give me a parental desire to protect her.

"Gabrielle!" I'm not sure why Fleur finds that offensive. "You should thank him, not insult him."

Gabrielle looks down at her feet. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think silly is an insult. I like being silly. It is much more fun than being all serious and cold." Yeah, I'm not above a little jab.

She rewards me with a warm, toothy smile. "Thank you for saving me," she says and runs off.

Well, it's something.

The patriarch of the family follows her, leaving me and Fleur alone in the room.

Either she's trying to unnerve me by staying silent like Albus enjoys doing or she is unsure how to proceed because she stands still and silent for the next five minutes.

"Thank you for saving her."

"Oh, I exist today. Lovely."

Another silence follows, this one even more uncomfortable. I am fine with that. I have nothing to say to her. I tried. I tried to find out what's wrong, what turned her to this cold shell of herself towards me and I am tired. Tired of wishing for things that won't happen, tired of waiting.

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. Obviously, you decided I wasn't worthy of an explanation. Stand by your decision."

"It's not like that. I didn't mean to ignore you. I..." she trails off.

I wave my arms "See. You still don't explain. You what? You got bored? You decided I wasn't good enough? What?"

She turns to the window. Yet, she doesn't answer.

I turn and dangle my feet over the side, facing her. "How about I guess what's been going through your mind lately. You are falling for me. You realised that when you left for France. So you put some distance to see, to figure out what that means to you. In the meantime, you met this charming redhead with an exciting job as a curse breaker. Someone who is socially more acceptable than a fourteen-years-old schoolboy. Especially when being with that boy, while exciting, would put you under more scrutiny. Something you hate. This redhead though would be perfect for you. Now, you can't decide what to do. Since you can't decide what to do, you came here so I can help make that decision for you."

The blonde turns away from me halfway through my speech to prevent me from seeing her face; soon turning back once again with her features schooled yet some surprise still bleeds through.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. Bill is Ron's older brother. One of many. Mrs Weasley would have his hide if he hadn't visited us while here for work."

She gives me a puzzled look.

"His mother. Delightful lady. Overbearing and quick to judgment but very loving and a great cook."

After my summary of Mrs Weasley, a tense silence ensues. She looks at me expectantly, waiting, hoping for me to say something to convince her to be with me. It is hard not to but I won't lower myself like that.

"I won't make your decision for you. In fact, from now on, consider our relationship, or whatever you want to call it, over." She looks hurt. "I put in the effort, Fleur. I opened myself up. I was there for taking. It is time for you to make a move. You want to be with me? Great, ask me out on a date. You want to be with Bill? Understandable. All you have to do is say yes to him."

That seems to hurt her pride because she lifts her nose at me. "Do you want me to crawl for you as well?"

I get up and walk to the window to look out on the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts. "While it would be fun for role-playing, no. I like my woman with a backbone. A woman who isn't afraid to go after what she wants with her head held high."

She huffs and turns around to leave.

I grin viciously. Even though she can't see it, it is obvious from my tone when I speak. "Be warned, though. Pride is a tricky thing. It's a good thing when you are prideful for the right reasons. Like knowing what you want and taking it. But when built on empty foundation, it falls apart like a house of cards. Will the decision you make right now fall apart like that?"

She hesitates but continues walking away.

"I guess we'll see where the cards fall," I whisper to myself.

The view from the window is magnificent with late afternoon sun reflecting on the thin snow and the lake, creating a rainbow of colours with a white background. I'm aware what a great view this makes for yet I see no beauty at the moment.

The hospital wing feels like a horde of dementors passed through it.

 **-HP-**

I wish I can say I leave the hospital wing with no aid but I can't. I wasn't aware at the time but the trident hit only the left side of my back while the right side is doing just fine. Because of the extensive damage to the muscles on my back, I have limited use of my upper left body which affects my balance.

So I lean on Katie as I walk. She has a hard time dealing with the additional weight I cause but Ron and Neville are too tall for me to lean on without damaging the still healing muscles and Hermione carries enough weight on her shoulders. A small library worth of weight to be precise.

This is the first time I leave the hospital wing in need of physical therapy and Poppy takes offense by it somehow. Like saving me from a certain death caused by an extensive blood loss, damage to the liver, a punctured lung and a punctured kidney wasn't enough, she had to bring me back to perfect health from the ordeal in only five days. That woman!

Ron and Hermione lead us to the courtyard, then to Forbidden Forest like I asked. It was hard to convince them to take me to this little journey. Poppy wanted me to use this ugly metal cane. Which I, of course, rejected. Call me vain but if I have to use a walking aid, I will use one that looks stylish and is useful. So I will make myself another staff.

Hence the forbidden forest. There are these beautiful holly shrubs I want to use the wood of for the staff in the forest. The first staff I made was for artistic purposes so I made it with beech wood and Raiju whiskers. This will focus on defence. Thus holly wood and Phoenix feathers.

Why defence? I haven't forgotten Voldemort's failed, and perhaps still active, plan to kidnap me.

We walk for fifteen minutes before Firenze and Ronan join us. "Hello, Harry Potter," Firenze greets. "I am glad to see you are recovering from your ordeal."

"Were you watching?" He nods, I grin. "I thought centaurs didn't like to waste their times on superfluous things us wizards do?"

Ronan chuckles. "Don't listen to Firenze, young Harry. Even centaurs, gets bored with watching the stars."

Four friends of mine watch us with wide eyes as we continue to talk. It's not surprising. Even though they know I am friends with the two centaurs, the familiarity with which we converse is mind-boggling for them.

Firenze looks at me searchingly. "Why have you come to the forest, Harry? It is not safe for you, especially in your weakened state."

"It's precisely for that reason, I am here. I need to make a staff to help me walk. I want to use holly wood for it."

Ronan is definitely interested. "A staff, you say?"

"Yes. It won't last long depending on how often I perform magic with it. A dozen spells at most but it's better than being defenceless." I turn to Ronan. "I can make you one too if you are interested."

"I thought you had laws against that?"

I shrug. "I've never been one to follow rules and I won't let rules imposed by bigots stand in the way of giving a gift to a friend."

We reach the bushes I am here for. "I would like that."

I cast a drying charm on the ground and sit down. "How about you, Firenze?"

He shakes his head, causing his mane to flail around. "I enjoy the bow you gifted me fine."

"Okay then." I turn to Hermione. "Hermione, can you?"

She knows what I need, so she cuts useful parts of the bushes, putting the berries aside and giving me the woods.

"Dobby."

Pop.

"Can you bring the wooden box with the symbol of two wands and a staff on it? It is on the highest shelf in my room. And some Basilisk hide?"

Dobby pops away and back without a word. I guess he's nervous around the two centaurs.

"Thank you, buddy."

Pop.

The small box has three parts. First one filled with whiskers I worked hard to convince Puck to give. Second filled with eye strings from the basilisk. The third has feathers Fawkes donated. I plan to use seven feathers of Fawkes for my staff.

"Ronan, what characteristics would you like your staff to have? Holly wood is great with defensive magic. For core, you have three options. Basilisk eye strings are better when used to cast magic intending to hurt. Phoenix feathers have a greater range. It is a risk though. The staff would either work great for you or abysmally. Raiju whiskers have a tendency towards artistic and fluid magic like Transfiguration."

I know a wand, or a staff the case may be, chooses a wizard but I don't have many options so asking for his opinion is the next best thing.

He considers for a long moment. "Basilisk eye string."

I nod. "Not a bad choice though it may clash with Holly's protective nature."

Seven eyestrings leave the box and I work on preparing the cores while I explain the process to the four students. "Wood works as a transmitter in wands and staves. They channel the magic from your arm to the core, then out. The cores are the tricky part. They expand the magic, give it a shape and a purpose thus making it easier to perform spells. In essence, the core's job is to simplify the magic."

I tie the feathers together, then the strings and wind them around a small piece of holly. I hold out the two small pieces of wood. "This is a staff core. For a wand, the makers use only one string and feather. Otherwise the wood can't handle the resulting magic. Staves are capable of more powerful magic because they are made with more core material but that is also the reason they don't last long, especially if made by a novice like me. The core elements burn away at an exceptional rate with little time to settle."

I stealthily perform the few necessary enchantments I know. This part of the work is a secret wandmakers holds close to their chests. There are less than four hundred people who know the secret and it isn't my place to tell other people.

Albus truly is a well of knowledge and knows almost everything there is to know about magic.

Hermione has gathered enough wood for the two staves already and is listening attentively. I gather the wood in front of me and lay them in two horizontal lines. I turn to Ronan and try to measure how long a staff he should get.

The length of a wand or a staff is important but I don't know what is the determining factor. So I go for comfort. Six feet for Ronan and three feet three inches for me.

My staff is the first one I work on. I choose a wavy pattern for it. My first move is bonding dozens of thin branches into seven long and thicker branches. I then place the core on where the staff will be thinnest, near ground. The staff will start thin on the ground and get thicker towards the handle. I use extra material so the inside of the staff won't be empty. Next, I wave the branches around the core in a circular pattern using a simple transfiguration trick. I transfigure the part where I will lean on the staff as a knob so the grip is good.

Ronan's staff turns out bulkier than me. Three thick branches going straight down around the core. He will use it as a tool so it is for two handed grip.

By the time I'm finished, it's been two hours and there is no sign of the winter sun.

Ronan takes the staff when I hold it out for him. "Try it but be careful. If I did a good job, resulting magic will be much more powerful than you are used to."

Centaurs can do great feats of magic. Though they mostly focus on healing and divination, they are capable of offensive magic as well and Ronan proves it. He takes the staff in a two handed grip and slams it on the ground. Four trees hit the ground in pieces, destroyed beyond recognition and a thin wisp of smoke is leaving the staff.

We stay still at the result, in awe and shock, even Ronan.

Two minutes later Ron gulps and breaks the silence. "I would be very careful when using that thing if I were you."

Potential reactions are cut short by the sounds of approaching hooves. We all turn towards the noise and thirty seconds later, see two dozen centaurs with drawn weapons. They look like they are ready for a war which, considering the noise, is not surprising

"What's going on here?" Bane yells when he is close enough.

Ronan and Firenze step in front of us and explain what happened and why five humans are in the forest. What follows is twenty minutes of centaur politics.

As soon as we get out of the forest, Hermione turns on me. "I told you we shouldn't go to the forest! They might've killed us!"

I disagree. Centaurs don't kill children, or 'foals' as Ronan puts it. "Nah. They were just tense because of the noise and destruction."

"That's the last time I listen to your harebrained ideas and follow you into the forest."

"That was the first time you followed me to the forest."

She huffs and storms off. I feel bad for scaring them though. Ron got used to getting into trouble with me a long time ago so he's okay but Katie and Neville are still shaking.

"Let's get food and relax."

We walk into the great hall and all conversation stops. It takes me some time to understand why everyone is staring at me. I stand straight and put on my best Lockhart expression. "Yes, it is I, Harry Potter. There is no need to get up. Please, continue as you were."

Some laugh. Some sneer. Some clap.

I shrug and make my way to the Gryffindor table to sit down with my friends.

It feels uncomfortable, being the focus of most of the population once again but I survive. Some Gryffindors come to congratulate me on my rescue of Gabrielle, some look at me in awe. I ignore the awe and nod gently at the congratulations.

I wonder when I will become a villain again.

My pondering is cut short by Dumbledore who stands up and walks in front of the staff table to make an announcement. "Now that we have all our champions back with us, it is time to announce the points they received for the second task. Because the task was cut short by the unfortunate incident, the judges decided to award points according to the performances up to that point. First up, we have Harry Potter who reached his hostage first and performed admirably, even going to the extra trouble of saving a young girl in trouble. For that we award him forty-seven points."

The applause is deafening.

"Second, we have Cedric Diggory who used a bubblehead charm to great effect and was second to reach his hostage. We award him forty-three points."

"To Viktor Krum who managed a half-transfiguration and reached his hostage third, we award forty points."

"To Aimee Beaufort, we award thirty-seven points for her ingenious use of potions. To Britt Henningsen, we award thirty-seven points for her use of Bubblehead charm and a great show of power. And last but not least, Miss Fleur Delacour's charmed breathing apparatus earned her thirty-three points."

That gives me fourteen points lead. Not too shabby.


	8. Episode VII

**Chapter 1: Ring!**

 **January 29, 1995**

Today is a great day. Honestly, good is the word to describe the last few days. Because of my injuries, I had to put training on hold, which meant I could catch up on my other studies, especially Runes and Arithmancy, and paint more often.

Oh boy, do I need that!

It's been such a chaotic year with all that happened and still happening that I didn't have much time to take up a paintbrush. Don't get me wrong, I painted, but I had to use magical means most of the time which doesn't allow for the same satisfaction.

Using magic for something I can accomplish without makes it feel cheaper and… all around less somehow.

That's why I am in a great mood as I stroll to Hogsmeade, alone for once. Ron is still sleeping and Hermione said she wanted to stop by the library before coming with Ron. That sounded like a date but...

Neville and Ginny have a date. That boy is coming out of his shell and, boy, oh boy, he will cause waves if his self-confidence continues to grow the way it has been this year. It's like watching a colourful butterfly come out of its cocoon.

Yeah, that left a bitter taste in my mouth after the way Snape used the butterfly memory to play me like a fiddle.

Anyway, I'm not sure what I will do alone in Hogsmeade. I would meet with Sirius and Remus and get drinks but they are using the free time they have to go to France for a while and handle a few things. This year has been tough on them too with constant travel between two countries. The store has been suffering because of their shifted attention and they haven't seen the few friends they made in France at all.

Oh, and I think Sirius has a lady he's not telling me about. He seemed awfully shifty and far too excited to be away for a week or two. I don't know why he thinks he needs to date on eggshells.

Get it? Date on eggshells?

Meh, I didn't like that joke much myself. Not every joke can be a winner, I guess.

Still, even alone, today is a great day and I want to feel the winter sun on my face. Staff in my hand, I walk towards the Shrieking Shack to have a late breakfast while watching the scenery. I even brought a canvas and a charmed transmitter that will relay the music playing on my record player.

What a morning. The scenery, some delicious food prepared by Dobby, timeless music, winter sun. There are only a few things that could make this morning better but I refuse to contemplate what could have been instead of enjoying what _is_.

I sit down on a bench looking over the Shack and Hogwarts. First order of business, I conjure a simple table and lay out the food. Today's breakfast is pancakes, melted chocolate and many types of fruits, a kettle of tea and a pitcher of orange juice. Today's music is Jazz and Blues, courtesy of Frank Sinatra and Nina Simone.

For the next hour, I munch on my food lazily and enjoy myself and the abnormally balmy weather. I even dance a little where I sit. That's how Aimee and Samantha find me. Singing and rocking on the bench. They're laughing which embarrasses me but they saw my monkey dance so this is far from my lowest.

"What are you doing?" Aimee asks when she stops laughing after a few minutes.

"Can't a guy enjoy himself?"

She raises an eyebrow with a smile. "I thought men did that in the shower."

I wave my hand without a care. "I did _that_ before I came here."

Samantha walks to the table with a smile and sits down next to me. "What do we have here?"

"I am rewarding myself with some delicious food."

"What are you rewarding yourself for?"

I shrug. "No clue. Being awesome and handsome perhaps?"

Aimee joins us on the bench. "Can we get a reward too?"

"Sure, visit me in my room tonight and I'll see what I can do." I finish with a wink.

She slaps my shoulders in response. "I have a girlfriend, honey."

"The more the merrier," I say with a large, unashamed grin.

She shakes her head and pops a strawberry into her mouth. "You are happy."

I lean back and nod. "I am. It's been a good week."

"I guess you are over Fleur then," Samantha says and there goes my cheerful smile.

I ignore Aimee's glare to Samantha and shrug. "I don't know. At least I have closure now. She made her choice."

The brunette reddens a little under Aimee's pointed glare. "A stupid choice," she mumbles.

"Everyone deserves to make their own stupid choices. You are her friend. You should support her, not gossip about her, especially with me."

She lowers her head sheepishly.

Aimee stops glaring and eyes me. "So you aren't angry with her?"

My careless shrug is not completely honest. "Angry is not the right word. Disappointed and hurt, maybe but I can't be angry with her for choosing what she assumes will make her happy." I grin and add, "'fuck you but have a nice day' sums it up well."

Both girls laugh hard at that.

We spend the next hour chatting and laughing. Both girls offer a good company. Especially Aimee. She reminds me of Katie. Both are easy to talk to and easy to laugh with. Samantha is fun too though she exhibits a small foot in the mouth problem occasionally and has a slightly more sombre outlook in life.

I convince them to pose for me so I can paint them which lasts for two hours at which point they rebel on me and drag me to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. But not before making me promise to finish the drawing sometime and give them as a gift to remember me by when they leave.

Three Broomsticks is as crowded as ever like all Hogsmeade weekends but luckily, we find an empty table and order lunch and real beers.

When I say 'real' beer, I mean Muggle beer because let's be honest, Wizards have no appreciation of a good drink and are far too eager to add weird shit to them. I mean who in their right mind would prefer fire coming out of their mouth?

Anyway, Madam Rosmerta isn't keen on the idea but I convince her it's for the international cooperation purposes. Some bronze changing hands has nothing to do with it, I assure you.

We finish lunch around two in the afternoon which makes me realise Ron and Hermione are still not here. Just as I wonder that the door to the pub opens so I turn around to see Fleur and Bill walk in.

Fuck.

Today is an awful day. Honestly, awful is the word to describe this last few weeks.

I turn back and focus on my beer, tearing off the paper on it. I can feel Aimee and Samantha's sympathetic gazes on me but I ignore them, choosing to nurse my drink instead.

Luck would have it, the only empty table in the pub is right across from me which doesn't seem to faze Fleur as she sits next to her date as if I don't exist.

Oh, joy.

When five minutes pass by in silence, Aimee can't take it anymore. "Are you okay?"

I consider choosing the path of denial but it seems pointless. "I need a stronger drink."

Getting up, I walk to the bar and convince Rosmerta to sell me 'real' whiskey after five minutes of heated discussion and transfer of some silver.

Hey! Bribery is the backbone of a strong economy. Or was it productivity?

Whatever. I'll advocate for morality tomorrow and donate money to a charity or something.

I even get two glasses of quality wine for the girls accompanying me. I turn around to see Fleur sitting in the seat next to mine, arguing with Aimee. So I sit on a stool and sip my drink, waiting for her to return to her date.

Isn't it funny there is no fire-wine or something equally eccentric? Though if I had to guess, I'd say someone attempted it but French were quick to put a stop to that idea.

Am I being racist?

Am I acting a bit crazy?

Bill's plain boredom continues for ten minutes by which point I am on my second glass.

I guess I'll see if alcohol solves problems, eh?

I wait another minute before going back to the table and giving the girls their wines with an awkward smile. Two minutes of silence is all I can take before my curiosity gets the better of me. "What was that all about?"

Aimee huffs while Samantha answers my question. "Fleur seems to think us sitting with you is betraying her somehow."

I don't know why but I chuckle. "Why?"

"She said you insulted her," Aimee says with a questioning undertone.

"Did I, now? I can see how she would see it that way."

"Did you?"

I put an elbow at the table and rest my chin in my palm. "I believe my exact words were 'I like my woman with a backbone' and then explained when pride becomes arrogance."

Aimee crosses her arms. "So you hit her where it hurts?"

"Not really. She asked if I wanted her to crawl. I said 'no' and told her the backbone bit. I thought she would have told you all about it."

"She didn't. I understand why now."

"Let me recap then before you judge me. She, her father and sister came in. After the usual 'thank you for saving my daughter' bit, her father left with Gabriel. Then the whole business with Bill came up. I told her I would not chase after her and that if she wanted anything else to happen between us, she would be the one to ask me. She asked if I wanted her to crawl. I said no; that I liked a woman who wasn't afraid to go after what she wants with pride. She left without saying anything else after that."

"What did you expect?" Aimee asks me in a tone that is upset yet understanding.

I raise my arms in a complaint. "What was I supposed to do? Declare my undying love for her?"

"Why not? That's what she wanted from you."

"Yes, because it makes so much sense to tell her I love her when the girl doesn't even want to be seen in public with me. She who walked out on me twice and changed directions any time she saw me for two weeks."

She looks sheepish at that. "Yeah, you have a point there. But this is Fleur. It's always boys who ask her out, who go after her."

"I did go after her. Twice."

"You should talk to her. Without attacking her pride this time."

"I can't. She has Bill's tongue in her mouth at the moment." I nod towards the couple who are devouring each other with a passion. I finish my drink and realise the girls have finished theirs. "Refill?"

I wave to Rosmerta and order us another round of drinks after both girls nod.

Samantha takes a sip of her wine. "I thought you would want to leave."

"Nah. I drink here, I drink somewhere else. It doesn't matter. Besides, I want to memorise this scene for when the whole thing goes up in flames."

"What makes you think it will?"

"I know her. I know Bill. I bet when they have sex, I'll hear about it before you do and with greater detail."

Aimee raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

My answer follows a careless shrug. "I spent this summer listening to, in vivid and obnoxious detail, his 'conquests.' They weren't as cool as he hoped but who am I to judge? To each their own."

The girls exchange a look that speaks volumes. "Please don't tell her about this conversation. She will assume I am trying to... well, eliminate the competition or something and I really don't want that. I understand you care about her but you should let her make her own mistakes and learn from them."

After a minute of silent contemplation, Aimee's shoulders fall. "Fine."

Hermione and Ron choose that moment to walk in. They make a beeline to our table and sit down.

Ron's first words aren't what I consider thoughtful. "Ouch. That's got to hurt."

"Thank you for the sympathy but, still, fuck you."

Ron reddens. "Sorry. Do you want me to beat him for you?"

That earns a chuckle from me. "He's your older brother. If anything, he'd kick your ass. Besides, I can't blame the guy for dating a girl he finds beautiful out."

"Yeah, but mate, this is Bill we are talking about. He will talk, a lot."

I give Aimee a pointed look and elbow Ron in the ribs. "I learned how not to hear things when he did that this summer."

"Sorry."

Hermione shakes her head in exasperation. "That's the second time you said that in the last five minutes. We need to find a cure for your foot in the mouth syndrome."

"What's a syndrome?"

Hermione's head hits the table with a thud. "Sometimes, I curse the day I joined the magical world."

"What did I say this time?"

I clap him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll learn how to use your brain someday."

"Hey! I know how to use my... Wait, what was it called?"

That makes everyone at the table laugh.

Ron sure has his moments.

 **-HP-**

 **February 6, 1995**

I can feel it coming. The signs are all there. My sleeping is erratic and Ron's table manners have nothing to do with why my diet has been suffering for the past few weeks. Urge to paint is becoming oppressive. I talk less. I smile less but feel more. My mind wanders at ill opportune times and more often. Even my hands are shaking which is new among the list of symptoms.

I hate this. I hate not being in control. I hate when my cracks are there for the entire world to see.

The worst part is the looks Hermione throws me and the way Sirius is walking on eggshells around me. Albus has been observing me more closely. Even Minerva is acting odd. They all see the signs and know what's coming.

I hate that I can see them prepare to catch me when I fall, to nurse me back to sanity.

I have this... habit- I guess you could say- of losing my mind from time to time. It started when I was five. At least, that was when it took the form it is today.

Even back then, I loved painting. I'd spend most of my time painting. Then one day, on the anniversary of my parents' death, I went batshit crazy. I painted every flat surface of the house without a stop for fifteen straight hours.

It used to happen more often, every two months. Since starting Hogwarts, I've been doing better. The first year, I only had three breakdowns. My second and third years passed with two breaks each.

This year has been better. I suffered no break down yet which is surprising considering the amount of stress I am constantly under. Think about it. The year started with my vision of Voldemort planning to kidnap me, continued with the death eater attack after the World Cup and peaked with the Champion Selection Fiasco. My identity, my biggest secret, came out, and since then, I have been interchangeably hailed as a hero and vilified as a cheater. I almost died, again, and do I need to even mention the rollercoaster ride Fleur gave me?

What a fucking year! You can't blame me for cracking under pressure, and boy, will it be magnificent.

Maybe I should invite Rita to watch. I'm sure she'll love to write about it. Hell, she may risk my ire and catch a certain death for it.

Okay, that was way too dramatic.

I wouldn't actually kill her.

Much.

I don't think I would.

Now, I am sitting on my favourite spot near the lake with my back against my favourite tree, watching the lake and letting my mind do its thing in a vain effort to empty it and delay the inevitable.

Hermione is watching me from afar, pretending to give me my space. It's irritating yet it speaks volumes about how much she cares about me and I don't have the heart to tell her she's getting on my nerves. I love her too much to do that.

"Well, well. Look who it is. Hiding from your fans, Potter?"

I can't help respect how Malfoy can express the amount of contempt he has for me by saying my name. The way he says it, you'd expect Potter to be the world's most insulting curse word. The only other person capable of such a thing is Snape. Maybe he teaches a class on it?

I don't look up and I can perceive how much it offends him. "I was and yet, you found me."

"Shut up, Potter! I'm not a puffer!"

"If you say so."

I can't believe I will say this but I think I respect Draco Malfoy.

Agh! I feel sick.

Well, sicker than before.

You know what I always wondered? When someone says something disgusting, people tell them it's sick. How so? Isn't the person saying the disgusting thing is the one who's sick?

Words are funny.

"Why are you laughing about?" the blonde ponce asks when my crazy escapes me.

"I realised something. You know, since the first day we met, you hated me and you never changed. You will hear this from me only once, so savour the moment. I respect you. This whole school is a fucking insane asylum. People change opinions in a biweekly schedule yet you always hated me, not changing your opinion once. That takes guts. It's stupid. But brave still."

He stands there gaping like a fish for a long, long moment. Understandable. It's not every day your school nemesis says something nice about you.

"What?"

I shake my head in exasperation. "And there it goes."

"You respect me?"

"More than I respect ninety percent of the students in this school. They are a bunch of sheep, incapable of personal opinions. Even though I don't care about your opinion, you at least stand by it instead of rolling with the flow."

He gives me a 'right' nod, a rare moment of understanding passing between us.

Yikes! That's a worrying thought right there. '"You can go now. I'd like to be alone."

He does so without another word.

The entire world must be going crazy.

Half an hour after the blonde leaves, another blonde appears. This one, I like.

"Hello there, Aimee."

"Hi, Harry. What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

She cocks her head to the side and sits next to me. "Just sitting?"

"Yep. I am trying to empty my mind by letting it run free."

"What?"

"You know how sometimes your mind goes to overdrive and you constantly jump from one thought to another?" She nods. "I am having one of those times. So, I am letting every thought run its course to see if it will help me focus better."

She gives me a worried look, and I just want to scream. "Huh. That's a weird thing to do."

"I'm a weird guy I guess. Hey, do you know the joke that starts with the French witch and a goblin?"

"No, is it funny?"

"No idea. I can't remember. It's been driving me crazy."

"Huh."

"Do you ever wonder if there are aliens in the universe and whether they have magic? I mean, wouldn't it be cool if star wars had magic? Though, I guess 'the force' can be magic considering it enhances certain aspects of a person and helps them do things like move objects and shoot lightning bolts out of their hands. Did you know I can do that too? Shoot lightning bolts out of my hands. Well, not my hands per se, but I can make it look as if it's coming from my hands. My trick isn't powerful like Emperor Palpatine's but it's something I guess. I mean think about it. Palpatine is basically a dark lord and Yoda is Dumbledore if Albus was small and green and had an Object-Subject-Verb speech pattern. They even have the same 'must talk in riddles' nonsense going on. Well, do you?"

Aimee's eyes get bigger and bigger as I speak. "Okay, stop. What's going on with you?"

"What? What do you mean? Do you mean like what I was up to lately? Or right now? Like what I am doing at this moment? Because if it is the second, I already told you. But if it's the first, it would take a far too long time to answer. I have time though. Which is it?"

"Harry, are you okay?"

I shut up. Am I okay? What a ridiculous question. No, I am not. I am losing my grip. "I... I'm not sure." I turn my attention back to the lake. "I forgot to ask when I woke up from my three-day coma. What happened to the siren that almost killed me?"

She looks at me with worry. "I was still in the water when that happened but word around is you killed her."

"I was firing cutting curses blindly to keep her away. One of them must've done it."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"I am not sure."

"What do you mean?"

I shrug. I can't explain what I am going through to myself, let alone her. I feel sad, glad, surprised, disappointed and many more things about having killed an intelligent being.

Do you hear that? The clock is ticking.

'Tick-tock.'

 **-HP-**

 **February 9, 1995**

The Marauders' map is a wonderful thing. It shows where everyone in the Hogwarts castle is at any given moment. I found out I liked to follow random dots of people recently. It is therapeutic and helps calm me down somehow.

Ron, Hermione and Neville are sitting in front of the fireplace in the common room with Ginny and a couple other people I don't know all that well. Malfoy is in Slytherin headquarters, surrounded by his usual goons, coming up with a nefarious plan to make someone, probably me, look like a fool.

Albus is in his office with Barty Crouch. Boring.

Flitwick and Sprout are visiting McGonagall's office. My guess is these gatherings happen often to gossip and complain about students. I mean, it's not like professors can have a life, right? Right?

Snape is in his office, doing god knows what. Holding a council meeting with bats, maybe?

Barty Crouch is in Moody's office, pacing while Moody is stationary.

Sinistra is in her office with a wom-

Wait, what?

How did Crouch get there so quickly? Wasn't he with Albus and the others just now? Oh, wait. He is there too.

How can there be two Crouch- Crouches? Crouchs? Whatever. Polyjuice? No. It doesn't fool the map. The only thing capable of fooling the map is my Cloak of Invisibility.

How is this possible?

Does he have a son? If he does, is he actually narcissistic enough to name his son after himself? I mean talk about a big ego!

A visit to Moody's office is inevitable, I guess.

I get up from the desk and don my invisibility cloak before making my way out of my room and towards the second floor where DADA classroom and Moody's office is.

You can understand how big Hogwarts is by this walk alone. It takes me fifteen minutes to get there.

I crouch- hehehe- next to the office door and put my ear to it to hear what's going on inside after checking the map once again to ensure my target is in there. Someone's walking, probably Crouch or whoever he really is.

Options. Should I knock on the door and act like I have an important question for the professor or should I barge in and surprise them?

Why consider the second option? Because there is a foul play here. Only a handful of people knows about the map which means it is near impossible to fool it. And among those who know the making of the map is one Peter Pettigrew. Whoever it is inside, he may be Voldemort's spy in Hogwarts.

Why do I think this Crouch is my target but not the one in the Headmaster's office? No idea. Gut feeling? I trust Albus. Whoever this man is, he wouldn't want to be near Albus more than necessary. Though I wonder if Moody is actually a safer choice with his paranoia.

Okay, I don't want to hurt someone innocent because of my paranoia so I choose the first option. I knock.

Two minutes later, the door opens to reveal the disfigured Professor. "What is it, Potter?"

I glance up at him with no telling expression on my face, not an easy feat with my mental state. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about duelling techniques, Professor."

He scrutinises me suspiciously. "Filius tells me you did great in the duelling tournament."

My smile is innocent to the point of extreme but the man doesn't suspect a thing. "It never hurts to learn more, professor. 'Constant Vigilance' and all that."

He opens the door wider and waves me in. "Get in."

That's worrying.

First thing I do as I walk in is examining every inch of the office. It's filled with whirling objects, similar to the Albus', but these creep me out while Albus' seem benign and even funny. Once I make sure there is no one else visible inside, I sit down at a chair and wait for him to settle. He takes off his wooden leg before doing so which adds a further tension to the situation.

"Go ahead and ask me your questions instead of looking around like a curious toddler, Potter."

"Okay. I was wondering if there is a spell to break someone's shield. In my duel with Professor Flitwick, I had to hide behind a shield because of how fast he is and while it worked for the short while I used it, I am not sure if it is a viable strategy in general."

He smiles, and it is scary. A man with his features should not smile, especially near young, impressionable children. "Well, there are charms to weaken shields but they are not efficient. An average wizard would tire out fast if he uses any of these against a powerful opponent. More often, duellers attack with a variety of spells to bend and tire out the shield."

While he is talking, I try to come up with an inconspicuous way of revealing whoever is with us. There is none.

"So it could be an effective strategy against a much weaker opponent? What about an opponent who can dodge my spells without tiring? Like I guess Krum would be. What strategy would you suggest against him?"

He hums as he thinks. "There are multiple options. Turning the environment against him and pinning him down is one. You can transfigure animals. You can try curses and hexes that affect an area instead of just a person. You can use the elements against him."

"I tried some of those on Flitwick but he overcame them easily."

He straightens in his chair and puts back his wooden leg before getting up. "Flitwick is an experienced dueller, Potter. You should be proud you lasted as long as you did against him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to score essays."

I walk to the door but before I leave; I turn back. "I have one last question for you, Professor. Who is here with you?"

He tenses and his hand move to his wand. "What are you talking about, Potter? No one else is here."

He's lying. Why would he lie? Two possibilities He either knows the person and is hiding him, or he is the person. Either option means he is hiding something and my paranoia tells me both possibilities are to my detriment.

I move fast. Too fast for him to react even with his prepared stand. He causes no problems before he is disarmed and bound on the chair I was just sitting. Next, I cast the Human-Revealing charm. Wouldn't you guess? There is someone inside his trunk.

Inside his trunk? I mean, I know enlargement charms can turn a trunk into a zoo so it isn't hard to imagine a person hiding in there but still, what the fuck?!

Five minutes of rummaging the trunk later, I find the right compartment in his seven compartment trunk. Why would he need _seven_ compartments, I have no idea.

A balding man who looks like Moody is lying in a prone position. What an odd thing.

What to do? What to do?

I guess this is a good time to involve Albus. A parrot leaves my wand to deliver Albus a message. 'Moody's office. Quick. Bring Crouch and Snape, and a vial of Veritaserum.' It's a good thing the door is already open.

I made just one mistake. I didn't check the Moody I disarmed for a spare wand. Which he has and I find out the hard way when I become a victim of the Torture curse second time this year. As I writhe on the ground, he talks but for the life of me, I can't hear a word he says. Pain is my entire world at the moment.

After what feels like an hour, he disarms me and sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "What am I going to do with you, Potter? You weren't supposed to know about me."

Hey, that means he doesn't know the purpose of the parrot which must have reached Albus' office by now. Rescue is on the way. Buy time. "Congratulations are in order, I guess. You got the better of Moody. That's impressive."

"It wasn't hard."

"Oh, yes. I imagine Voldemort would be more than capable of dealing with even someone as paranoid and experienced as Mad-Eye."

He looks at me searchingly. Good. Waste time.

"You dare say his name?" He's not angry, he is puzzled.

I laugh. "Please, if I wanted to say his name, I'd call him Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort."

Now, he is angry, but he doesn't lose his calm yet. "I would be more respectful if I were you, boy. Dark Lord has many plans for you. Not all of them leaves you breathing. And of those that allow you to breathe, most end up like Longbottoms."

That's surprising. Voldemort doesn't necessarily want to kill me? "He wants me to join him, doesn't he? That moron."

Yep. I said it and I meant it. And yes, he is mad. That's funny. Mad-Eye is mad.

My good mood doesn't last thanks to another bout of Cruciatus. Whoever came up with that curse deserves to be kept under it for hours on end. That shit hurts!

Torture doesn't last long though, probably because whatever Voldemort's plan is, it involves keeping me alive and healthy. I can't go through that again. It is far too painful. That means waiting for Albus is no longer a possibility unless I disarm him again.

He's speaking but, again, the irritating ringing is all I can hear.

I have to use my last resort; my second wand. Otherwise, I may not survive this or worse. An obliviation with my state of mind might destroy it completely.

So he wouldn't understand my goal, I clutch my chest as if it hurts, which isn't hard to fake because it _fucking_ hurts, as I turn my upper body to hide my movements. My right hand moves inch by inch to my necklace. I know he can't see the necklace but I don't want to take any chances.

Every object in my necklace is shrunk to keep the size manageable. When I touch one of them and give a mental command, the object detaches from the necklace and returns to its original size.

Albus is a genius.

I touch a small metal-looking charm that looks like a wand, and a moment later, I have my phoenix wand in my hand.

"... pe that teaches you respect, boy. Otherwise-"

"Arget Oro!" That's an arrow throwing curse. It's the first idea that comes to my mind and I am in no position to be picky.

The problem is, it hits him in the throat and kills him in a manner of seconds as it destroys his spinal cord.

"Da- Dammit."

It takes another five minutes for the cavalry to arrive while I lay on the ground, unable to consider even the idea of moving. Albus barges in like an avenging angel and stops short in shock when he sees the scene.

His shock is understandable. He is supposed to be friends with Moody. Though that begs the question of how he failed to realise the man wearing Moody's face wasn't who he says he was.

The century-old man kneels near me with a fearful expression on his face. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Just pea- peachy. I lo- love laying on dirty floors."

"What happened?"

I don't get up yet. The way I am spasming, the idea doesn't seem sensible. My back wounds are also hurting which can't be a good sign.

Dammit. I stopped needing the staff only two days ago.

"My name. Cup. Two Bart-y Crouch in t- the map. Came to figure out. Imposter. Dis- disarmed him. Didn't che- check for a spare. F- found real Moody. Cruciatus. Didn't check for a spare -e. Killed him." Yeah, that's the most I am capable of for now.

Albus exchanges a look with Crouch but says nothing. He knows something. Both does. And is it me or does Crouch look awful? His clothes are in shreds, there are bags under his eyes and he's white as a sheet.

"I should have known you would be involved in whatever this is, Potter," Snape drawls when he enters with a vial in hand, giving me what passes for a concerned look for him.

I nod, well try to. "Yep. Love the torture curse. Can't get enough." I turn to the headmaster once again. "The map never lies, Albus."

"I think we should get you and Alastor to Poppy. She will be furious with you as it is. We will discuss this in extent when you are better."

"Shit."

Shit covers it pretty good. Turns out, while I was writhing under Cruciatus, I re-injured my muscles and reopened the wounds in my back. It wasn't until Poppy came and put me on a stretcher, we first realised the pool of blood on the floor where I was laying.

She is vocal about her displeasure. My ears are ringing.

Another fun night in the hospital wing is what I get for helping keep Hogwarts safe once again.

'Tick-tock. Tick-tock.'

 **-HP-**

 **February 11, 1994**

Last few days were filled with revelations. First was the uncovering of the imposter. That imposter turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr., Barty Crouch's son. Barty Jr. was a death eater who was broken out of Azkaban by his father, then kept under Imperius until he overcame the unforgivable.

According to the real Moody, with the help of someone else, probably Voldemort and Wormtail, Junior got the best of the paranoid man and used his identity to infiltrate the school.

We are almost certain he was the one to put my name in the goblet. He also has been keeping Crouch Sr. under Imperius curse until the father accomplished the same feat his son did. That's why Crouch Sr. was looking awful the day I killed Junior. He got free the same day and ran to Dumbledore to inform him of the situation as soon as possible.

What a series of fuck-ups.

I killed a man again. It's been bugging me ever since I woke up the next day, yesterday. Even with my tremors, as soon as Poppy let me go, I left the school to get two new tattoos. One for each of my kills since the summer. A trident and the Goblet of Fire.

It was a bitch, laying on the chair at the tattoo parlour without moving when the pain from the tattoo machine added to the considerable pain I was already in. I kept running over what I did wrong, how I could have handled the situation better.

The answer is obvious in hindsight: I should have gone to Dumbledore right away when I saw the map. In my defence, I wasn't in the best mindset and all I wanted was to figure out the puzzle.

Oh, and Albus apologised for failing to protect me. Again. Honestly, he should have suspected Moody. He's been friends with the paranoid man for decades but he had enough on his plate and Moody is a loner who avoids crowds as much as possible.

Is it paranoia if they are out to get you? Because Moody's paranoia was apparently well-founded.

Another potential, and more than a little worrying, result is the potential changes Voldemort will make to his plan. Until now, we knew his game and that he had an inside man even if we lacked details. Now, we are clueless about what his next move will be. He won't give up, that's out of the question, but will he stick to the plan by finding a new agent or involving new players? Or will he give up on kidnapping me and order someone to kill me?

Questions and questions with no answers in sight.

Hermione went nuts on me, yelling at me for being an irresponsible, danger loving, lucky-to-be-alive idiot. Katie cried a little more. Ron and Neville patted me on the back and dropped the subject as I wasn't very talkative.

"Harry. Harry. Harry!"

"Hm?" I turn to the bushy-haired girl.

"Will you, please, eat something?" That resigned attitude doesn't go well with Hermione's voice. She should be happy or mad or bored, not resigned.

"Sure."

I focus on the food in front of me and continue eating without enthusiasm. My diet has been suffering since the start of my fall. How long have I been falling now? Over two weeks? Damn. Half a month is a long time to keep falling.

Usually, I show the 'symptoms' a week or less before my breakdowns. This is a record and from the looks of it, the bottom is still far.

I should celebrate this record. Maybe a bottle of champagne? I wonder what champagne tastes like. Strawberry champagne must taste like strawberries but what does regular old champagne taste like? Did you know the only difference between champagne and sparkling wine is the region? Champagne is sparkling wine produced in the Champagne region of France.

Merlin, French people can be obsessive and pretentious.

Speaking of French people, Fleur is still dating Bill. At least I wasn't forced to listen to Bill's bragging yet. I count that as a win.

Okay, I realise I make it sound like Bill is an asshole with no likable qualities. He is not. Well, he is an asshole about anything related to the opposite sex but he's not unlikable. He is charming and fun. I guess I'm not as okay with this situation as I force myself to pretend.

Fuckity fuck, fuck!

"Harry. Harry. Harry!"

"Hm?" I turn to the bushy-haired girl.

Oh, I just had a déjà vu. I like déjà vu. It makes you think. Hermione gave me this article about parallel universes once. Those sound fascinating. One theory about déjà vu is that our counterparts in other go through a similar experience and somehow, the knowledge of that bleeds through. I wonder if every version of me in every parallel universe is going through this shitty breakdown I am going through? Or are they happy, well-adjusted people?

"Please eat. Starving yourself will do you no good."

My smile to her is half genuine. "Ron is eating enough for the two of us, I imagine."

Like the teenager she is, she rolls her eyes. "What he eats won't do you any good. You must eat."

Ron looks up from his worship of his plate. "Huh?"

I grin. "Hermione was just telling me how she thinks rooting for the cannons is stupid and how they have no chance of winning the league. Ever."

Ron rolls his eyes at me, seeing through my trick but winks and turns to Hermione with a look of outrage. Nice. That ought to keep Hermione busy for a while. From the grin Neville throws me, I can see he understands my little diversion while Ron explains Hermione just why the Cannons is the greatest team ever and how they will win the cup when they sign a good seeker next summer.

"How have you and Ginny been doing?"

Neville's embarrassed flush makes me smile. "We are doing well. I think she's happy with me."

"Good. You are a good man. She's lucky. If you want a little privacy but don't want to risk getting caught after curfew, my door is always open. I won't mind being displaced if it means my friend has a good time."

His flush goes off to roof. "Thanks," he stammers. He leans in to whisper. "We haven't kissed much yet. I don't want to pressure her or anything."

"I understand you don't. You are an honourable man, Neville, and you shouldn't hurry. Privacy doesn't have to be about that. You can surprise her with a nice dinner with music or something similar. Don't be afraid to be a little creative."

He nods at me like a good boy.

Merlin, did I compare one of my best friends to a dog? I am so fucked up.

Hermione turns with a furrowed brow and a frown for a reason. "We have to get to the class..."

"Go. Enjoy your classes."

Her hesitation is visible. "Will you be okay?"

That's why. "Don't worry about me. I'll take a little walk then head to my room to paint a little. I still need to finish the painting for Aimee and Samantha."

She searches my face for a confirmation but doesn't find it. She still has to go.

I don't move for a long time after they leave. I have nowhere to be and this is a good spot as any to let my mind do its thing.

'Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.'

 **-HP-**

 **February 14, 1995**

Yay! It's Valentine's day. Lucky for all couples in the school, the weather is fucking great.

It's such an obnoxious day that I want to bash every couple I see in the head with my staff which I am forced to use once again because I had to, I just 'had to', solve the puzzle.

I am walking down to Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, who are bickering as they always do. When Ron gets his ass out of his head and asks Hermione out, their relationship either will be legendary or they will crash and burn spectacularly. In either case, I will want a front-row seat.

I love these two.

Yes, I realise I said 'gets his ass out of his head' because that damn moron's head is so empty his ass could fit in there.

Not that Hermione is any better with people skills and romance. Those two are practically made and retarded for each other.

We walk past another couple, Cedric and Cho, who are too fucking lazy to go down to the hall for food so they are devouring each other. Morons.

You may have missed it but I am not having a good day. Oh, don't be so surprised, I am a great actor. Though Hermione doesn't think so if the constant glances she's trying to throw at me even as she continues her bickering is a sign. Multi-tasker, that one.

Every time she does that, I get the urge to rip her throat out but for the life of me, I can't get mad at her. She cares about me far too much and I have no desire to hurt someone who has been there, who is still there for me every step of my... adventurous and dramatic Hogwarts career.

But, boy, oh boy, how much I hate everything right now.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Please stop glaring at everything."

"Everything should stop being in my line of sight."

That brings her up short. "What? How?"

"Sometimes, World should not exist, yeah?"

She tilts her head. "If the world wouldn't exist, how would you?"

"I wouldn't mind not existing at the moment. We should just fast-forward to next week. I doubt we will enjoy this week very much. Do you know if it's possible to use a time-turner to travel to the future?"

She shakes her head in a Dobby imitation and looks at me with wide eyes. "You are going to do something stupid, aren't you? You look like you are about to do something stupid."

Hm. Will I? "Probably. I am feeling particularly prone to stupidity at the moment. Depends on what the day holds, I will either do something stupid or I will break."

Ron nods. "I vote breakdown."

Hermione slaps him on the shoulder. "Ronald! Don't say that."

"He's got a point, Hermione. If I break, I will get better sooner. If I do something stupid, the breakdown will still happen."

"Still. He shouldn't say 'get on with it' like that."

"Whatever."

We continue our walk in silence as I keep glaring at the sappy couples, who are hunting for privacy, and horny males who are waiting near mistletoes for a girl, any girl, to pass them by. Fucking teenagers and their gooey romance and pink love.

I have no idea what's wrong with me. I am not this angry. Ever. And I don't like feeling this way. True, I snap at people time to time like any hormonal teenager worth their salt but my anger is never this general, more momentary and more focused. Even for a breakdown, this is far too much anger for a happy-go-lucky guy like me.

As soon as we reach the hall and the Gryffindor table, I throw myself down on an empty bench and continue my glaring. My two best friends eat and chat, trying to involve me in the conversation, and eating in Hermione's case, but I do a little of either.

Just when I think the level of irritation can't get any higher, half an hour into the lunch, Bill Weasley joins us and makes me want to facepalm using the table.

I must have a seer blood in me.

"Hello there, children," he chirps with a wide smile. Would he headbutt the table if I asked him to or would table-butting him the head be easier?

Ron and Hermione mumble their greetings while I continue glaring at my food. I hate food. Food is the worst.

"How are you this lovely day?"

I continue coming up with creative ways of killing someone, namely the irritating redhead, while Ron talks to his big brother. "You are cheerful today. What's up?"

Bill sits down next to me before he brags, "I have a date with the lovely and, just between us, sexy Fleur Delacour, the Veela queen." He says _that_ in a loud voice, making me think his so-called call for discretion was a lie.

I've always wondered what would drive someone to murder another in cold blood, as in premeditated murder. Well, now I understand. People this irritating should be murdered to death and then murdered more so they don't defile the hell because that's definitely where they are headed. Lucifer, the Devil, has my sympathy because irritating people are very... irritating.

Oh, Sympathy for the Devil. That's a nice song. Yes, Harry, play the song in your head. You don't need to listen to this.

Unfortunately, my inner concert fails because I can feel Hermione's sympathetic gaze boring holes to my skull and it brings me out of my thoughts.

"Today is the day, little brother. The day I finally nail a veela."

Head, meet the Gryffindor table. Thud.

"It will be great. I already booked us a private room in the Three Broomsticks, and I suggest you don't go near Hogsmeade today because it may get loud."

Table, this is my head. Thud.

The redheaded man-whore turns to me. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Just peachy," I mumble from my headrest on the table. "What a lovely fucking day we are having, right? The sun and the breeze and all that unnecessary bullshit."

"Yeah, a great day for feeding the basilisk, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Do you mean like the basilisk I killed that was about to eat your little sister? You remember Ginny, don't you? Redhead, brown eyes, five feet two inches, a hundred pounds, wants to be a chaser for the Gryffindor."

He looks at me suspiciously. "Are you dating Ginny, Harry?"

That gets a laugh out of all three of us, me, Ron and Hermione. "Oh, Bill. I needed a good laugh. Thank you."

"What?"

I shake my head in amusement and he lets go of the subject.

Once he stops laughing, Ron turns to his brother, giving me an apologetic look. "So, why are you here if you have a date? Did she stood you up?"

"No, she will meet me here. She's probably getting ready. Like I said, I got a good feeling about today. This is will be a historic day, little brother, and it will be the best broom ride she ever had and ever will."

Okay, that's it. I am a patient guy but even I have a limit and I had it with Bill and his not-so-clever euphemisms. "Merlin, you are a moron."

Silence greets my comment. Hermione is looking at me with wide eyes while Ron is holding back his laughter because he knows what's coming and Bill, well, he's not the brightest candle in the castle. "What?"

"Did I stutter? Oh, it must be the moron part. I said you are a moron. Moron is someone who is exceptionally stupid. Like you. In comparison, a moron's brain functions are similar to that of a giant's. Well, a stupid giant's, but the comparison still holds. I'll make it easier for you. Let's go with garden-gnome so it will be easier for you to understand. You do understand what a garden-gnome is, don't you? Because if you don't, I'd understand. I won't judge I promise. Being upset with you for not understanding would be like getting angry at a baby for shitting in his pants. Ineffectual. It's just nature taking its course. Now, before you think I am comparing you to shit, I am not. I am comparing your brain capacity to that of a garden-gnome's. Though even gnomes exhibit a wider range of emotions than you. I wonder what would be a good comparison? Hermione, I am shooting blanks here. Do you know of any animal, magical or otherwise, that is as stupid and emotionally stunted as Bill? If you don't, I'm sure we can find a nice fit in literature. Oh, I got it. Orcs. You know, the ones in the Lord of the Rings."

I take a break because even I have to breathe, though with the length of the rant, I am sure Hermione is proud.

Bill is getting angry. "What's your problem, mate?" I don't know what's preventing him from being outright angry but I guess it is the curse of having slower brain functions.

"I am not your mate, buddy. I am just your acquaintance or someone you are friendly with but even that is far-fetched considering I think ignoring you be a better pastime activity than listening to you."

"What?"

"That's it? I insult you with material Severus fucking Snape would be proud of and all you have to say are 'what's your problem' and 'what'? Seriously? How did you finish Hogwarts? Honestly, do they give diplomas to any moron these days? I always wondered why Crabbe and Goyle's parents waste so much money on Hogwarts when it's obvious neither of them will earn any N.E. but I guess I was wrong. Even morons can graduate. Do Gringotts always hire morons or are you a charity case for them? I mean, I met Terrak, and he's a quick-witted guy so I assumed goblins have excellent intellectual capacity but maybe he's the brightest of his kind or an abnormality."

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem? Well, for starters, I am sick of hearing you talk about girls you fucked or girls you will fuck or girls you imagine yourself fucking. I mean, by Merlin, how can you talk about 'fucking' with such a great enthusiasm and detail without ever stopping, I will never understand and frankly, I pity any girl stupid enough to come ten feet of you let alone fuck you. We get it, you hope to fuck Fleur today. Have fun but do shut up."

I stand up and turn around to leave but am stopped by a smack across my face. My mind catches up with reality seconds later and I can't help it, I laugh. Fleur fucking Delacour just slapped me.

Wow. What a great fucking day.

When I finally stop laughing, I smile sweetly at Fleur while she's glaring at me, her cheeks red. "There goes the house of cards."

"What?" she hisses back and my smile falls, a kind but reserved expression in its place.

"Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve."

I walk past the blonde goddess who looks as beautiful as ever even with the thunderous expression on her face, and there are only two thoughts in my mind. 'There it is' and 'this would be a lot more awesome if I could walk without a fucking staff.'

As soon as I am out of the great hall and the loud silence that envelops it, I lean on a wall and take a deep breath. It has been a long month and it will be a long couple of days but there is nowhere to go but up now.

Ring!

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 2: Perspective**

 **February 14, 1995**

"What are you and Bill planning for your date today?"

"There are limited options, 'ime. We'll start by having lunch in that quaint little pub, the Three Broomsticks, followed by a nice, long stroll. After that, we'll see if this is the luckiest day of his life."

Aimee hates it when I call her 'ime' which is why I try to do so whenever we are in private. Though this time, she ignores it. "I don't get what do you see in that guy, Fleur."

"He's sweet, fun, charming, exciting," I answer easily, my annoyance about the many times she said so is easy to identify in the shake of my head. "And I don't understand why you dislike him so."

Aimee opens her mouth to say something and closes it, then opens it again. She continues to imitate a fish for almost two minutes.

"What?"

I'm not sure whether her determined nod is for my sake or hers. "You are right. I shouldn't act this way even if I think you are making a mistake. It is your mistake to make and you have my support no matter what."

That is suspicious. "You know something I don't?"

"No," she drawls, a blush making its way to her face, which is all I need to be sure.

I turn away from my wardrobe and my efforts of finding the right outfit for my date, and stalk towards her. "What do you know?"

She shakes her head and pretends to zip her mouth while looking at me with wide eyes.

"Why aren't you telling me?"

"Fleur, like I said, you should make your own mistakes so you can learn from them."

"Why aren't you telling me?"

"Fleur..."

"Why aren't you telling me?"

That does it, she jumps up from the bed, stalking across the room in agitation. "Because I promised Harry I wouldn't."

I look at her with narrowed eyes. What does Harry has to do with Bill and what is Aimee not telling me? Yes, my old bed warmer and my new boyfriend know one another but why would the former make Aimee promise not to tell me something? Something that causes Aimee to think dating Bill is a mistake? "And what did he make you to promise not to tell?"

"Do you really want to know?" I answer with a nod so she continues, "fine! According to Harry and Ron, Bill is a shallow guy who loves to brag about the women he has sex with and doesn't care much for commitments, more into the hump and dump kind relationships. If my memory serves me right, shallowness is one thing you hate most in a man."

That brings me up short. Is he? No, he can't be, he doesn't seem like the type. But why would Harry and Bill's brother, of all people, say that about him?

"Yes, I understand what's going on. Harry is trying to make me break up with Bill so he has me all to himself, he hopes, and Ronald is helping him."

Aimee shakes her head rapidly this time. "That's why he didn't want me to tell you. He said you'd assume he's trying to eliminate the competition. He also said instead of gossiping about you, we should support you even if we think you are making a mistake."

I ponder that for a full minute, perhaps even more. It sounds like Harry was genuine about what he said and I never heard him lie. But... I like Bill. He's one of the rare men who can actually act normal around me and hasn't tried to pressure me into sex, something completely opposite of what Harry claims.

No, the boy must be lying, too envious of the charismatic Bill and too egoist to apologise for his words and beg for me to take him to bed.

Well, he can dream on because there is no way I will forgive him.

Okay, maybe I would. Hell, if I was brave enough to be honest with myself, I would go so far as to say I yearned for an apology so we can return to how we were.

I choke the pang the finality of whatever I had with Harry leaves in my heart and focus on my best friend. "What else did he say?"

"About Bill? Nothing much, just that he was sick of hearing him talk about women and sex all the time and how he learned not to hear things past summer thanks him."

My eyes snap at the girl. "What do you mean about Bill? What else did you talk about that concerns me?"

She realises she let on more than she wanted to and flushes. "Nothing."

"Aimee..."

"He told us about what happened when you visited him in the hospital wing with your father."

That's interesting. Why would he talk about that with my friends, considering he insulted me? "What did he say?"

"He just told us what happened."

"Tell me what he told you exactly."

She does as she's told and after ten minutes of recap; I am fuming. "That... That bastard thinks I will crawl back to him, does he?! He thinks he knows me, does he?!"

Aimee watches me while I pace around my room and consider how I can make him regret what he said. "Fleur, don't do anything stupid please. Harry hasn't been himself lately, especially since..."

She knows! She knows why the normally cheerful and lively boy has been looking so broken lately. "Since what?"

She plays with the sleeve of her shirt. "It doesn't matter. It's not my place to tell."

"Aimee, tell me what you meant by that."

She squares her shoulders and looks up at me with a determined expression. "It doesn't concern you directly, and it's not my place to say."

I sigh. "Okay, fine, don't tell me. Your best friend since we were babies."

I've known Aimee since I was a baby and we've been friends ever since, through thick and thin, as they say. This is the first time there is an awkward silence between us and it's all because of _that_ boy.

That boy who told me to ask him out and then insulted me. That boy who sat with my friends and talked about me. That boy who I miss.

No, I don't miss him. On the contrary, right now, I pretty much hate him.

I continue dressing in the tense silence. I choose a pink, tight sweater and skinny jeans. All in all, my clothes shows just how sexy I am. We'll see what he will think when he realises what he lost.

Aimee accompanies me on my way to Great Hall to meet Bill. The grounds are not covered in snow anymore, which is a good thing, but now, we are forced to walk on mud once again. I don't think saying I hate Britain is enough. I _fucking hate_ Britain.

I look around when we reach the hall and find the now familiar red ponytail of Bill in Gryffindor table next to the certain messy-haired boy. The redhead is jumping on his seat, which is endearing, while the other boy seems to have a disagreement with the table.

We walk towards the table to catch the end of Bill's sentence. "... brother, and it will be the best broom ride she ever had and ever will."

I stop mid-step when I hear that. Did he actually say that? I must've heard wrong. Or maybe he's planning on taking me on a surprise broom ride.

"Merlin, you are a moron," Harry says with a shake of his head and a strange edge to his tone.

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Oh, it must be the moron part. I said you are a moron. Moron is someone who is exceptionally stupid. Like you. In comparison, a moron's brain functions are like that of a giant's. Well, a stupid giant's but the comparison still holds. I'll make it easier for you. Let's go with garden-gnome so it will be easier to understand. You do know what a garden-gnome is, don't you? Because if you don't, I'd understand. I won't judge, I promise. Being upset with you for not understanding would be like getting angry at a baby for shitting in his pants. Ineffectual. It's just nature taking its course. Now, before you think I'm comparing you to shit, I am not. I am comparing your brain capacity to that of a garden-gnome's. Though even gnomes exhibit a wider range of emotions than you. I wonder what would be a good comparison? Hermione, I am shooting blanks here. Do you know of any animal, magical or otherwise, that is as stupid and emotionally stunted as Bill? If you don't, I'm sure we can find a nice fit in literature. Oh, I got it: orcs. You know, the ones in the Lord of the Rings."

Wow. That was just... wow. I don't know whether to laugh, clap or get angry on Bill's behalf because that was some rant.

What is stopping me from doing either is, how out of character it was for Harry. From what I've seen of him so far, he's not the type to lose his cool, even in most stressful situations. He proved that when he calmly walked past a dragon.

What could Bill have said to drive him so mad?

"What's your problem, mate?"

"I am not your mate, buddy. I am just your acquaintance or someone you are friendly with but even that is far-fetched considering I think ignoring you is a better pastime activity than listening to you."

"What?"

By d'Arc!

"That's it? I insult you with material Severus fucking Snape would be proud of and all you have to say are 'what's your problem' and 'what'? Seriously? How did you finish Hogwarts? Honestly, do they give diplomas to any moron these days? I have always wondered why Crabbe and Goyle's parents waste so much money on Hogwarts when it's obvious neither of them can get any N.E. but I guess I was wrong. Even morons can graduate. Do Gringotts always hire morons or are you a charity case for them? I mean, I met Terrak, and he's a quick-witted gut so I assumed goblins have good intellectual capacity but maybe he's the brightest of his kind or an abnormality."

Yes, Harry knows how to insult someone when he gets mad and that was two rants in a row. Definitely commendable.

Bill is finally angry. "What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem? Well, for starters, I am sick of hearing you talk about girls you fucked or girls you will fuck or girls you imagine yourself fucking. I mean, by Merlin, how can you talk about 'fucking' with such a great enthusiasm and detail without ever stopping, I will never understand and frankly, I pity any girl stupid enough to come within ten feet of you let alone fuck you. We get it, you hope to fuck Fleur today. Have fun but do shut up."

I see red. How dare he?!

Harry gets up and turns around and before I know it, I slap him hard across his face, shaking with red, hot rage.

He laughs.

That wasn't what I imagined he would do. That's the last thing I thought anyone would do when they are slapped. What the fuck is wrong with him?

I can feel myself flush with anger and embarrassment, and he just laughs.

Until he stops and the look that takes the manic laughter's place cuts through me like a knife. "There goes the house of cards," I hear him whisper.

What's that supposed to mean? "What?"

The moment I ask, the answer hits me like a ton of bricks. 'Pride built on an empty foundation falls apart like a house of cards.' Fuck.

"Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve," he whispers in a cold voice and with a neutral expression instead of answering. That neutrality creates a stark contrast with the red of my hand on his cheek and I can feel my tears building.

No, I won't add to my embarrassment by crying like a silly girl. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, judging me and waiting for my next scandalous move. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

'May you have everything you deserve.' That sentence keeps echoing through my mind as he stumbles out of the hall, leaning on his cane.

Bill jumps up a moment after Harry leaves as if he only now realises what happened and who I am. "Fleur, are you ready to go?"

If you asked me a moment before he asked that if I could laugh anytime soon, I'd say no way but, god, he is a moron. How did I not see that before now?

"I am not going anywhere with you. You want to fuck someone? Go fuck yourself."

While Bill looks at me with... my best guess is incomprehension, that bushy-haired friend of Harry gets up to leave but stops next to me and looks at me up and down with narrowed eyes and wrinkled nose. "I don't know what Harry sees in you. All I see is a stuck-up bitch who doesn't deserve a single strand of his hair, let alone his adoration."

She leaves before I can answer, though even if she stayed, I am shooting blanks on what I could say to that without adding to the day's drama.

"Fleur..."

"Don't even talk to me, Bill, ever."

Aimee walks past me swiftly, and without a glance, and sits down in front of Ron, where Harry was sitting a moment ago. "Is he going to be okay?"

Ron shakes his head. "Nope. He was already on the verge of crazy after what happened with the fake Moody. I reckon you won't see him for the next few days if not more. Even I probably won't see much of him for a while."

Fake Moody? Wasn't Moody that creepy guy with an artificial eye? His lessons has been cancelled for the past week though no explanation was given. Other Hogwarts teachers have been attending the lessons instead.

I lose the war to my curiosity so I sit down next to Aimee who still doesn't spare me a glance. I don't blame her. I'm just grateful there are no mirrors around. "What do you mean fake Moody, and what happened?"

Ron gives me a disinterested look but answers, no sign of his previous weakness to my allure. "Our defence teacher turned out to be an imposter. Harry figured it out and there was a fight. Fake Moody used Cruciatus on him so Harry had to kill the bastard. Good riddance, I say, but Harry obviously has conflicting feelings on it." My eyes widen in shock to which Ron nods. "Yes, you slapped someone who went through a traumatic ordeal five days ago. Someone who almost died a month ago to save your sister and because of that, still can't walk without a staff. That was a nice move."

Shit. I can't believe I forgot about him saving my sister. Does that make me a horrible person?

I slapped him! And for what? For getting mad at someone for talking about fucking me like I'm a piece of meat. For being right about what would happen. For not trying to win my affections.

I _am_ a horrible person.

'Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve.' I don't want to think about what I deserve.

My anguish must be clear in my face because Ron nods at me knowingly. "Yes, you have been acting like a crazy bitch."

"But..."

Before I can finish, Harry' date for the Yule Ball sits down next to Ron with a thud. What was her name? Katherine? It started with a 'ka', that I am sure of. "Where is Harry? And why are you all looking like someone died? Oh, god. Please don't tell me he was attacked again. I can't take it anymore."

Her honesty is obvious for everyone to see; she looks on the verge of a breakdown.

Ron looks like he wants to say yes, because technically, Harry _was_ attacked. "Nah. He had a little fight Bill and Fleur here and left."

Katie looks at me like I offended her somehow which is close to the truth. "What did you do?" she hisses.

"I..."

Ron comes to my rescue. "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't expect to see much of him for the next two or three days if I were you though."

"Is he going to shut himself in his room again?"

"Yep."

They continue talking but I don't listen a word they say as I keep running over what happened, everything that happened since I met Harry. One thing is glaringly obvious: Harry has always treated me with adoration and respect, apart from his indirect insult and even that was mostly my pride taking offense. All the while I went between acting like a bitch to him and opening myself up to him in random order, confusing him.

Is it any wonder the bushy-haired girl hates me or Aimee doesn't want to look at me right now?

I have no clue how long I sit still, lost in a world of my own. It isn't until Samantha throws herself on to the seat next to me that I wake up. "Fleur, what are you doing here? I thought you had a date with Bill."

Aimee is far too happy to answer in my stead. "Fleur dumped his ass."

"Why?"

"Remember how Harry said he'd know before us when Bill fucks Fleur?"

Samantha looks at me crossly for not divulging that bit of misunderstood gossip. "I thought you didn't have sex with him yet."

Aimee doesn't give me a chance to answer. "They haven't, Bill was talking about how he would fuck Fleur later _today_."

Samantha's chuckling turns to coughing when I glare at her but she holds nothing back. "Like I said, you should've dropped Bill and asked Harry out."

This time, it is Aimee who chuckles and I glare at but she continues to ignore me. "I don't think Harry will want anything to do with Fleur anymore thanks to the slap he received for getting angry at Bill _because_ he was talking about fucking Fleur."

I consider slamming my head on the table, multiple times, but decide against it. I fucked up well and good, and now, I have to live with it.

Why did I have to act so arrogant?

'May you have everything you deserve.'

 **-FD-**

 **February 18, 1995**

"Okay, I can't take this anymore, I need to apologise." I stand and move towards the door of my small room but Aimee steps in front of me before I can leave.

"Fleur, I think it's great of you to wish to apologise, but do you think now is the best time? You heard what Ron said, even he thinks you shouldn't go near him yet."

"This is the boy Harry described as emotionally constipated we are talking about. Even he himself admits it to be correct so why should I take his advice?"

Aimee's hesitation doesn't last long. "Perhaps because he has known Harry for, I don't know, four years and has been best friends with him for the same?"

"And yet it was the bushy-haired girl who went after Harry, not him," I point out as I walk past Aimee who doesn't stop me this time and out of the Beauxbatons carriage. I hustle through the mud-covered grounds of Hogwarts in the dark and make my way to Harry' room.

Last three days have been hellish and not because of the glares I receive from every Hogwarts student. That was actually funny, how they think they have a right to judge me when a few months ago, they were wearing badges to insult a national hero.

No, what eats me apart is looking at the drawings he lovingly created and memories in which he loved me. Then I remember the look he gave me after I slapped him, the apathy there.

I am surprised to discover I memorised the route to a room I've been to only two times in this labyrinth of a school. What sort of school has moving staircases and corridors that can't decide whether to exist? This magnificent castle is one masterpiece of an insane asylum.

Maybe that's why I've been acting crazy all year? The castle is messing with my brains?

Oh, how I wish that were true so I could once again enjoy my mirror.

'Have a nice life, Fleur.' That actually hurts more than anything because it certainly sounded like a final goodbye and I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

Twenty minutes later, I give the password Harry shared with me more than a month ago and walk up the stairs to his room, glad to learn the password is still the same. The loud music coming from his room makes me feel like I'm walking into a war zone but I square my shoulders and knock on the door. I am ready to fight for I want.

A few minutes pass and I receive no answer so I knock once again. When he still doesn't open the door, I screw up my courage and open the door myself, thinking he didn't hear because of the music.

War zone, indeed.

The scene I walk into is hard to describe to say the least but war zone is an apt description. The room is in disarray; every piece of furniture is thrown away from their original places with no aesthetical sense, there are bits and pieces of broken canvases, woods, glasses and haphazardly thrown clothes everywhere. Even a few broken bottles. The music is so loud, my brain has a hard time functioning and I have to wonder how Harry can endure it.

Puck is prowling around, letting out small bolts at random intervals as if he shares his friend's pain and troubles, which I don't doubt he does. Their relationship has qualities I'm envious of.

The worst part of it all is Harry. He's painting in a delirious state, moving one canvas to another with no discernable pattern, giving brush strokes to each or waving his wand with no sense to his actions. He has bags under his bloodshot eyes and body thinner than usual which isn't hard to notice when I can count his ribs through the open robe he's wearing. And I know that body intimately and know it isn't supposed to look like that.

His movements are erratic and out of balance, and he keeps mumbling to himself though I can't pick up what he says thanks to the music.

My heart breaks at this sight of him, and it may sound arrogant but I can't help think this is all my fault. Harry, who can always crack a joke and smile, who can keep a cool head even in the most stressful situations, looks broken. I can't comprehend how one slap can do this to him. He can't be in love with me so much, can he?

No, he can't and even if he loves me, the Harry I know wouldn't be this broken up about _just_ me.

As I stand there, processing what I see and having a mental fight with myself, he continues painting. If he knows of my presence, he doesn't show it one bit.

I give a wave with my wand to stop the music and stammer, "Harry, I..."

He hesitates for only a second before continuing his frantic fight with the canvases. "Please leave."

Those two words hit me like a slap, and part of me knows I deserve that metaphorical slap. "Please, I want to apologise."

"Please, Fleur, leave."

I hesitate but make to close the distance between us but before I can get close enough to... I have no idea why I move towards him when he doesn't want even to be in my presence. It doesn't matter as before I can move close enough, he turns, faster than I've ever seen him move, and the canvas he was working on flies past my head, inches away from hitting me and breaks apart upon hitting the wall.

The unexpected aggressiveness stops me in my tracks though I am almost certain his aim was true.

He looks at me with a crazy, red gleam in his eye before turning back to his paintings. He doesn't continue his work. Instead, he shakes his head repeatedly and mumbles, "no, no. This is all wrong. They aren't supposed to look like this. No. The siren is supposed to go there but it won't fit. None if it fits."

He gets crazier by the second and at the end of his drivel, he takes each of the canvases and throws them away across the room.

That explains the broken canvases lying around the room.

I stand stock still, afraid to move a muscle. It's not that I'm afraid of getting hurt. Even in his state, Harry wouldn't hurt me.

I think.

I hope so.

I don't move because from the way he pants and looks around in the room, I get the impression he would go even crazier if I do.

He puts his hands on his knees and continues panting for a long time as I watch him breathless before he conjures new canvases and starts again. "Please leave."

This time, I listen to the desperation and edge in his voice and leave. As soon as I am out of the door, I fall on my back and let my tears fall like they've been begging to since I entered the room. Since I slapped him.

I sit there, crying for I don't know how long but only when I have no more tears to give, I realise I don't recognise where I am.

Harry's room has two entrances, the one I used and the one that opens to the Gryffindor common room. In my hasty retreat, I must have used the wrong door and now, I have to walk past dozens of people.

This is all because of my arrogance and I guess it's a fitting punishment; doing the walk of shame under a different connotation. A much more shameful one.

I square my shoulders before walking down the stairs to face the music as the saying goes. The moment I am in their sight, everyone in the room turns towards me. It reminds me of those old western movie saloons when as soon as a stranger walks in, everyone turns to him.

I ignore the stares and make my way through but am stopped by the bushy-haired one. "What were you doing up there?"

"I... I wanted to apologise to Harry but..."

Her narrowed eyes widen before her expression turns hateful all together. She grabs my arm in a tight grip and drags me to where Ron is sitting. "You couldn't stay away, could you? You sleep with him, then ignore him, slap him and follow it up by another room visit. Do you enjoy playing with all men or is he your favourite plaything?"

I guess I left my pride when I left the carriage because I don't get mad; I am just embarrassed.

Ron must realise how awful I am feeling. "Hermione, that's enough." He looks at me. "How is he and what happened?"

I gulp down my embarrassment to answer. "He- I don't know how to describe it. He looks crazy... and like he hasn't slept for days. He was painting but destroyed the painting, saying it wasn't right." I take a deep breath to calm myself before continuing, "I tried to apologise but all he would say was 'leave'."

Ron and Hermione exchange a look that speaks of a longtime friendship and says many things I can't understand.

Hermione gets up and whispers to Ron, "we need Dumbledore. It has been four days, and he's showing no signs of slowing."

Ron nods and follows Hermione out, leaving me to scramble behind them.

I follow them through corridors until we reach a gargoyle. "Tears of Phoenix," Hermione tells the Griffin and the magnificent statue swirls around, opening the way to a revolving staircase.

We dash up the stairs and Hermione knocks on the door firm enough for the sound to reverberate. "Come in."

Dumbledore welcomes us with a worried expression which clashes with his usual kind and all-knowing persona, and his voice conveys the same worry when he speaks. "How is he?"

"It's been four days, Headmaster, and he's getting worse and worse. You must talk to him. You are the only one he would listen."

The broken looking old man nods but doesn't move or speak for ten whole minutes. I want to shake him out of his reprieve but I have done enough damage already and am the outsider in this situation. A situation I have helped create if not outright created myself.

Dumbledore surprises me by suddenly standing and leaving the office in a pace I struggle to match. Five minutes later, we stand in front of the 'old man in a wig' painting.

While Harry' mentor talks to him in his room, I lean to a wall, watch Hermione and Ron pace, and relive what I saw today.

Harry is comfortable in his skin, a boy who knows what he is capable of and shies away from neither a confrontation, nor a challenge. Even when I acted aloof towards him or underestimated him, he has always impressed me with his cool-headedness and self confidence. It is unreal, seeing him like this, like I am in an absurd dream.

And I hate this absurd dream. No matter how repulsive he acted towards me when I visited him in the hospital wing, Harry was right in his recap of what I've been going through. I like him, a lot, and it is scary for me to fall for him so fast and so hard.

Was he right in his predictions? Will I crawl back to him? Would it be terrible if I do? Because I miss him and all that he makes me feel. I miss him more than I ever missed anyone except Gabrielle and with how fast he made me like him enough to miss him so much, he's looking to dethrone my beloved sister.

So why did I let my arrogance, because that was arrogance, not pride, fuck it all up? No, it wasn't my pride that resulted in my actions. It was my fear. Fear of what would mother say. Of what it would do to my reputation. Of what it would do to my heart if it went any further.

But what's more important is, why did I let my arrogance and my fear hurt this proud boy? Oh, how he would irritate me by telling me to call him 'man' if he heard me call him a boy. And I want that boyish charm back, not for selfish reasons, but because the broken shell I witnessed is not him. And for selfish reasons.

I want him back.

Hermione continues her furious pace while Ron had enough and is leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

"You were right."

Hermione and Ron look at me with searching looks.

"I've been acting like a crazy stuck-up bitch."

Hermione stops her pacing. "Drop the words 'acting like' and you would be correct."

"It's just... The way he spoke with me in the infirmary was so infuriating, like I was beneath him and he was magnanimous enough to teach me a lesson."

Ron chuckles. "Yeah, he can be that way when he wants to be an arsehole or when you annoy him. The worst part is he always knows where to hit and still turn out to be right."

While Ron enjoys my predicament, Hermione doesn't. "It still didn't give you any right to play with him and slap him."

"I know. That's why I came here tonight, to apologise but he was so... Does this happen often, this breakdown or whatever you call it?"

I can see distrust and hesitation on Hermione's face while Ron steps a few feet away, letting the brunette take the lead. "Yes, that's main reason I am against you and Harry. He needs someone who will stand by him no matter what, someone who will be there to pick up the pieces when this happens. Not someone who leaves him at every opportunity, ignoring what it does to him."

Okay, I may deserve her anger for the way I behaved, but I did nothing to make her think I wouldn't stand by Harry. Did I?

Yes, I did. So, I say nothing in response. Hermione can think whatever she wants, what I care about is Harry' opinion of me.

It's time I am honest with myself. I want to be with Harry, to go back to kissing him when I wake up and to laughing with him when he acts cocky.

I am falling in love with him and I am more than ready to help him through whatever this is.

Fuck. I _am_ crawling back to him.

He will be unbearable when he regains his sanity, and I can already sense my cheeks warm up in response to his smart-ass remarks.

But first, he needs to heal and I will stand by him until he does.

And second, I need him to forgive me and I will do what I must to earn that forgiveness.

 **-FD-**

Half an hour is how long we wait while Headmaster Dumbledore talks to Harry in his room. Still, it is an enlightening half hour. First, Hermione informed me Harry has these kinds of 'episodes', that's what I will call this, roughly every six months. Second, Ron, while emotionally constipated as Harry makes him out to be, knows his best friend and I should listen to him about Harry related things. Indeed, he's good at reading people I realise when I consider all the times he stepped in to spare me embarrassment. Third, and most important, I want to be with Harry.

I know, what a shocker.

I wish to be the one to nurse him back to health and it has nothing to do with Hermione's words. Brunette's not-veiled implication I wouldn't stand by him through one of his episodes is ringing in my ears but this isn't my pride talking. I want Harry go back to his usual charming and cocky self, and I want to help him get there and stand by him because even the thought of a final in our rocky relationship hurts me.

You may call this my crawling but I have stopped caring about my pride or what people, including my mother, would think.

The 'the old man in a wig' painting swings open and Dumbledore walks out with Harry who leans on his staff like a lifeline. Puck trails after them, a sentry protecting his moving post. Three of us look at the elderly man inquiringly but he says nothing, telling us to follow him with a gesture of his head.

Say what you will about the wise wizard, he knows how to command attention and make people follow. One gesture has me walking behind the mentor and student without even considering disobeying or asking about where we are going.

We follow the two through the maze that is Hogwarts and down on moving staircases. Neville and Ginny stumble onto us when we are in the third floor staircase. Neville understands the essentials of what's going on with no words while Ginny looks at her feet. It is impressive how red she can get.

We continue on our way without a word, and after sending Ginny away with a whisper, Neville too follows.

I wonder how Harry would react. Would it upset him to know we are watching him as if he is a freak show, or please him to know we are here for him?

When I say we, I mean Hermione, Ron and Neville. People he likes and considers friends. I don't fall in the either category at the moment, considering I am at least partially responsible for his current state.

What can I do to reconcile with him, to apologise? Harry is not a materialistic person if the fact that he handmade almost everything in his room and temple is any sign, so buying him something with no sentimental value wouldn't earn me anything. Whatever I do or give, it must have a personal touch.

While I ponder viable ways of apologising, we exit the castle and struggle our way through the muddy grounds, towards the forbidden forest.

I've picked up enough of Harry' adventures to the forest to question whether this is a good idea but this is Albus Dumbledore we are following. If somewhere is not safe with him, it should not exist.

Fifteen minutes and mud-covered clothes later, we reach the Harry's favourite spot on the grounds. The clearing where he asked me out.

Odd, I know so much, yet, so little about him. I recognise his favourite spot on the grounds, yet I know so little about his 'inner demons' as they call it. I heard some, if not most, of his adventures yet I am clueless what effects these adventures had on him.

He killed a 'being', as both British and French ministries classify sirens, to save my sister, and yet, I haven't asked him how it made him feel. He took a life- no four lives- this year and never once I the question of how that would affect him crossed my mind.

Does that make me a horrible person, or another face in the crowd? Thanking him for his service and forgetting about the consequences it has on him?

Dumbledore lets go of Harry' shoulder and waves his wand to conjure one giant canvas. The canvas is at least sixteen feet wide and equally long. "Would this work, Harry?"

Harry mumbles under his breath for some time, inspecting the canvas and planning. When he is satisfied, he nods distractedly and draws his wand while Dumbledore direct us a little away from him to let him focus. Puck stays close to his friend, pacing around Harry, still the loyal guard and the sympathetic friend.

Harry looks at his wand and judges it before shaking his head. His gaze falls on his staff, the one he used for the show he put on when we arrived, and nods his acceptance.

He lifts the staff four feet in the air and slams it down, whispering an incantation I can't hear thanks to Puck's cries.

The result is magnificent. Colours of every kind flies out of the staff and hits the canvas, leaving behind a baseline for whatever he is trying to paint.

Faces with no distinguishing features appear at both ends of the canvas, judging whatever will end up in the focus of the painting. Trees of every kind appear, some looming menacingly over the landscape, some sturdy and life-giving, all surrounding a hill. Two lakes appear, a small river flowing out of each.

Five of us watch in silence and awe as Harry works on the canvas, his staff on the ground, smoking while his wand a blur that spits colourful oils, creating small depictions of events and people.

My throat dries in anticipation.

The first bit of composition he creates is a young, attractive couple, a beautiful, redhead woman with Harry' eyes and an older Harry with hazel eyes. The couple is at the top of the canvas and the hill Harry created with his staff, holding hands and watching the rest of the painting.

"Lily and James Potter. Harry's parents," Dumbledore informs us, his voice sadder than ever. Harry' state must affect him more than he lets on. "Do you know why dementors affect Harry more than they do any of you?" Three friends shake their heads at once while I realise just how little I know the boy I'm falling for. "Sirius probably mentioned this to you but I'll reiterate. Dementors bring one's worst memories and biggest fears to the forefront. For Harry, that memory is her mother's death."

That's terrible, probably the first thing Hermione and I agree on if her reaction is anything to go by. "But how can he remember? He was an infant," the girl asks, her voice breaking.

"He always did. Perhaps not consciously but he used to, and probably still does, dream about his parents' murder. He first mentioned it when he was five, on the morning of the anniversary of his parents' death. His first breakdown happened the very same day. He didn't realise it was a memory, but he kept having the same nightmare." He half turns and peers over his half-moon glasses. "Can you imagine living such a horrible memory, again and again; hearing your mother beg for not her own, but your life; hearing those three accursed words three times per nightmare."

My gaze falls on the stumbling form of Harry and his work once again. While Dumbledore was talking, he finished another piece. This one has the silhouette of a man with blood-red eyes, holding a bone white wand that hits a lightning bolt, like his scar, with a green light.

"That's how he received his cursed scar, and why he has these breakdowns."

We all wait for him to explain but he doesn't. Ron's patience runs out. "Sir, what do you mean?"

Dumbledore takes a deep, shaky breath. "Since he was a child, Harry has been an unbalanced boy. He could go from happy to angry, and vice versa, in a manner of seconds. Initially, we thought he was lashing out because of what he witnessed. We were partially wrong. It resulted from the tragedy but he wasn't lashing out. A normal person enjoys or suffers a finite variety of emotions at any moment. You can be sad and lonely or happy and excited or nervous and afraid. Harry goes through all those and many more emotions at any and every moment."

"You must have observed the way he can alter your moods; how good a liar he can be; how he can act fine after a traumatic event.' I believe, somehow, he feels several emotions at any given time and can draw from them to establish a behavioural pattern for himself and control his environment. He has a hard time focusing his mind because of that talent, or a curse depending on how you look at it."

"So he depicts his thoughts and inner world in paintings or through music. They are outlets for the chaos of his mind and how he can function even though he suffers from Muggle psychiatrists would call a 'bipolar disorder'. It's all a result of the killing curse he survived as a baby. At least, that's my theory though my theories tend to be right."

I have a difficulty processing what was said.

How is that possible? How can he be happy while also being sad? I have observed what Dumbledore mentioned though, how he can cycle through emotions and how well he can act. Can he really carry everything with him at all times?

The two Death Eaters he killed this summer, his name coming out of the goblet, the stress of suddenly finding himself in the public eye. He's been carrying all that and who knows what else, and he still smiled and made me smile. He still had it in him to make me fall for him. And I'm not even counting how I must've confused him with my indecision.

It's no wonder he had a breakdown. Hell, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.

Puck's gives a loud cry, drawing my attention back to the ongoing painting and the part Harry just finished. A blood-red stone surrounded by a dark shadow that leaves a purple cloth thing, I'm not sure what.

Lucky for me, Dumbledore explains it with a whisper, as if talking to himself, "the Philosopher's Stone."

I speak for the first time since we exited Hogwarts, "what?"

I, of course, heard of the legendary Philosopher's Stone. What I am curious about is the reason Harry would draw it.

The elder man is surprised to hear my voice, but he recovers quickly. "One night when I was out of school for a ministry business three years ago, there was an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone which was safeguarded here, in Hogwarts. Would-be thief kidnapped Harry and dragged the boy to the last protection with him, knowing he couldn't solve the puzzle himself."

"Harry had to kill the thief in self-defence. Can you imagine what that must have done to him? Killing someone at eleven?"

I can't. The closest experience I had happened when I was thirteen. My mother had taken me shopping in Paris. I saw four cute kittens in the sidewalk across the street and called out to them. They must have thought I had food because they ran across the street without a pause. It was a busy street. A big black car ran over them and continued on its way without even slowing down.

I cried for a week.

I can't imagine how he must have suffered, killing a man at eleven, then killing three more men at fourteen.

Good god.

The tears I thought I ran out of come back with a vengeance and it is through a lot of effort I keep them from making a noise even as they travel across my cheeks.

"And yet, he is still good," Dumbledore whispers, admiration clear in his tone and face. "He is still pure and he can still laugh like a boy his age should." He looks at me like I may have the answer to how that's possible. I have no answers to offer.

As Harry continues to paint and Puck continues to prowl and cry, Dumbledore explains what he is painting and tells Harry' tragic life.

Yet not all the painting is dirtied by bad experiences.

Harry draws the bearded half-giant Professor, Hagrid. The man is one giant ball of hair and awkwardness, and a little uncultured. Yet, Harry's portrayal of him looks like an overly large teddy bear.

Sirius and Remus, adventurous older brother/father figures whose wide and mischievous smiles create a stark contrast with the bloody parts of the painting, yet both still carry scars with them.

Hermione, a library hanging over her shoulder; Ron, who is practically wearing food; and Neville whose shy smile hides talent; all three walking shoulder to shoulder, their friendship challenging Time to draw them apart.

Dumbledore, sitting on the throne-like chair I saw in his office two hours ago, playing with his beard with a thoughtful expression and a kind smile. The Phoenix perched on his shoulder looks on with pride and mischief.

I don't understand how he painted a phoenix with a mischievous expression but he did.

He draws Katie, feet dangling from a tree, a big smile on her face, yet the jealousy I would have expected to feel is not there. She is beautiful yet there is a childishness to her, a purity that prevents me from feeling any negative emotions towards her.

There is no discernable order to the way he paints, no symmetry. No hive of good or bad. Good is next to bad, both fighting for the dominance of the canvas yet neither winning.

A troll is slamming his club at a small tree. A basilisk's mouth is wide open to swallow anything in his path, yellow eyes glaring. Dementors are gliding through the forest, leaving icy trail.

My examination of his work cut abruptly when Harry falls down on his knees with a cry, his hand pressing on his scar. None of us moves for a moment, frozen in shock at the unexpectedness of his cry and fall.

No one moves for a moment as Harry's eyes freeze while his body spasms, his scar bleeding. Dumbledore is the first to gather his senses. He kneels next to the boy and draws him up to his chest but does nothing else as the spasms continue and Harry mumbles unintelligently.

Then, after five torturous and confusing minutes, his eyes refocus and he throws himself away from Dumbledore and empties his stomach. He must have missed more than a few meals because nothing comes out of his mouth after a few pieces but his dry heaves are even worse.

He continues to kneel for a few more minutes, blood drying on his face, eyes more bloodshot than before and his clothes muddy. Slowly, the pain leaves his face, replaced by the craziness of before and he stands back up to continue his work on the painting after giving Dumbledore a meaningful and resigned look.

He returns to unleashing chaos on the canvas while Dumbledore walks back to us on shaky feet.

Neville speaks for the first time tonight. "What just happened, Sir?"

Dumbledore nods his head in my direction. "A discussion for another time."

He shared many things about Harry tonight but what happened was something bigger, and while I am curious and worried, I can understand why he wants to keep me in the dark. Trust has to be earned, and I have done nothing to earn it yet, unlike the other three who stood by Harry for years.

On the contrary, I acted untrustworthy, hurting the boy when I should have stood by him, because of the debt I owe him if nothing else.

As we stand, tenser than before, watching Harry work wonders, minutes go by to become hours and sky lights up with the dawn.

A blonde man with a treacherous sneer appears on the canvas, holding a cane in one hand and a mask in other, lurking behind a tree. A younger version of the man stands behind to him, a similar sneer hides fearful eyes.

The potions professor's form comes next, his robes flailing behind him like bat wings, his eyes dispassionate and suffering.

The transfiguration Mistress stands tall, a barely there smile grazing her lips, ready to defend her children.

Professor Flitwick is in mid-jump with a big smile on his excited face.

Two death eaters lay on ground, broken and beaten.

Two faced man, one of the defence professor, the other a young man, bleeding out from his pierced throat as he looks on with unseeing eyes.

Centaurs standing proud and noble, yet menacing.

A dragon, standing guard of her nest, annoyed, menacing and fearful.

A siren without an honour.

Balzac with a huge grin on his face, one hand holding a girl's hand, the other on the shoulder of a younger boy whose hand holds another girls'. All four, I've seen in passing in the halls of Beauxbatons.

Aimee, sprawled over snow with a childish grin on her face while Samantha watches her with amusement and exasperation.

He paints everyone and everything that left a mark on him, and there are many marks I haven't heard about.

Except me. Harry continues to paint and paint yet I see no sign of me.

The canvas gets fuller and fuller, and the last bit to be added is Harry himself. His self representation in the painting is a masterpiece all on its own.

One side of his face is bloodied and scarred, my hand print clear for everyone to see. His clothes are in tatters, blood dripping from his hand and wand as if he slaughtered an army.

A boyish smile grazes the left side of his face, his eyes shining brightly. The clothes that show signs of war on the other side, is covered in paint. Same paint is on the brush he's holding.

He looks handsome and vicious, playful and happy.

Harry steps back, takes one look at his work, nods his satisfaction and passes out, hitting the muddy ground with a splash. It would've been funny if it wasn't for the... you know, the obsessiveness and craziness he was exhibiting just before.

Dumbledore shrinks the canvas and pockets it, Harry's wand and staff before levitating Harry to the castle. I stand still as Harry' friends and familiar follow in his wake. Only one thought running through my mind, making me fear the odds of earning forgiveness.

He didn't paint me.

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 3: Unbreak My Heart**

 **February 21, 1995**

I am standing still in front of the doors of Hogwarts infirmary. Why still? I am nervous, more nervous than I was in the tent before facing a dragon.

Why am I nervous?

Two days. That's how long Harry has been sleeping and how long I've been waiting to apologise to him. Actually, I've been waiting for a week. Today is the day I will succeed and the day I will ask out a boy for the first time.

It is hard to believe a week ago around his time, I was getting ready for my date with Bill. It felt more like a month and an abysmal one.

Doubt is clouding my mind with questions I am afraid to answer. What if he yells at me, or what if he rejects me? Worst, what if he says nothing, not even acknowledges me as I did to him for two weeks?

Doesn't matter. I will do this and no amount of fear will stand in my way. I will go after what I want and I will get what I want, and fear can go fuck itself.

With a lifted nose, this one of determination instead of pride, I push the doors and walk inside. Harry is awake, eating fruits and playing with his familiar with a huge smile and without a care in the world, showing no signs of his recent breakdown.

It warms my heart like nothing else could. This is the Harry I fell for, the one who could make me laugh with no effort and who would wink playfully before a difficult duel or facing a dragon.

The enormous canvas he spent hours painting is in display, resting against another bed. It is even more breathtaking than I remember.

Harry must see my stutter step without even looking in my direction because his smile takes on a teasing quality. "Hello, Fleur."

I make my way to the foot of his bed, my heart thundering against my chest. "You seem cheerful."

"I am." He waves his unoccupied hand around in the air. "How can I not be cheerful when it is such a beautiful day?"

He looks at me with guarded yet bright eyes, and my throat goes dry in anticipation and nervousness of what's coming.

When I stay silent for a long time, his patience runs out. "Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?" His tone has no anger, only a polite curiosity.

Honestly, I would prefer anger.

Holding out the bag I brought with me, I say nothing. If he is surprised, he doesn't show it. He takes the bag and opens it without a word. He looks inside and looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. "A gift?"

A shake of my head is the only answer he gets. Instead, I take my violin and bow from the bag, and place the violin between my cheek and shoulder.

I thought long and hard about how I could apologise. This is the best idea I could come up with. He likes watching me play so I will play my apology and give him a performance he won't forget.

I hold the bow limply, close my eyes and play.

For the next thirty minutes, I play for him as he watches me with a crooked smile, playing with purring Puck's fur.

When I stop playing and look up at him to see his reaction, his smile is nowhere, a critical expression in its place. "You missed a couple notes there but not a bad performance."

I gape in response, my mouth opening and closing without a sound. Then it hits me. "You can't help act like an asshole, can you?"

He grins. "It's my default setting."

I smile and give a soft tap on his shoulder with my bow before turning serious again. "I am sorry."

"For?"

"For ignoring you, for slapping you, for being scared." He cocks his head to a side, telling me to continue nonverbally. "I missed you," I confess in a small voice.

He moves his head side to side, considering my words. "What changed? Other than seeing me at my lowest?"

"I realised going after what I want is better than being miserable."

"And that's me?"

Gulping my pride down, I answer honestly, "yes."

"Even after my breakdown?"

"Yes, and I want to be there for you, to help you, when you fall. I just wanna be yours."

Aimee would be proud of me for opening myself up like this while my mother would disown me and my dad would never believe it. Gabriel would just mock me nonstop. I am acting way out of character but this is the only way of getting myself out of the mess I created, of fixing what I broke. Honesty.

"You realise this will mean you are mine, not just during the night but always? No more going on dates with other people. No more running off when it gets too real for you to handle."

I sit down next to him with my hands gathered on my lap. "I know I shouldn't have said yes to Bill, but you were so rude when I visited you here."

He wraps his arms around my waist. "I know, but you have to understand, you came here expecting me to beg you. It was insulting and demeaning, and I wanted you to feel the same way because I so wanted to beg."

I turn to him with my eyebrows near my hairline. My tone is hopelessly hopeful when I ask, "you did?"

He nods, looking me in the eye. That's so sweet, my heart melts as I realise how much he wants me. I close the distance between us, intending to kiss him but he stops me with a finger on my lips. "This was a good start but you still have crawling to do."

My eyes widen in shock and I gulp. He will make me do it. Damn him! I am wearing white pants for god's sake! How can he be so cruel? I hate his guts.

Nodding, I move off the bed but his arms tighten around my waist. "Ask me out on a date so my ego can heal and soar to new heights."

"Harry, will you go out on a date with me?"

"Merlin, that sounded so lame but whatever. I will consider it before giving you an answer."

"Shut up and kiss me," I order him with a smile and he does.

We make out for ten minutes before taking a break. "You will still do the crawling, in my room, naked and without moving as I enjoy the view."

I told you he knows how to make me laugh. He even makes me get certain urges unsuitable for a hospital bed with a single sentence. "Will you play for me afterwards?"

"That's my line, you witch!"

My careless shrug is stopped by his mouth on mine. Without realising, I move on top of him and take his head in my hands while his arms find my hip.

Hospital wing is so not the place for this.

I push myself off of him with a hand on his chest, rest my forehead on his and look in his bright eyes.

His wide, carefree and happy smile melts my heart even more, and I curse myself for the nearly two months I cost us. His next words do even more things unsuitable for polite company, "Are you mine?"

 **-FD-**

"Poppy, can't you do something about my back? If I fly while still injured, it will mess up my performance and my injuries may even get worse depending on what the sadistic organisers come up with."

The healer gives Harry a mean stare, her lips quivering with a restrained smile. "You should have thought about that before you re-injured yourself, Mister."

"Oh, come on. It's not like I asked the guy to use Cruciatus on me! Just do your job, woman, before I take you to my knee and give you a spanking I know you would enjoy."

Their relationship is amusing and far too close. Not that it disturbs me or anything. What's troubling is how they came to be so close. It is another reminder how often Harry spends time in this part of the castle.

I had a long talk with Madam Pomfrey while Harry was still sleeping, or in a coma, as he calls it. She complained about how every few months, Harry would wind up in the infirmary and how every time she saw him injured and broken, it would break her heart.

She's a lovely lady underneath her stern exterior and a favoured aunt to Harry.

"Mind your tone, boy, or when you hurt yourself again, you will need another healer."

"That will be in a week if I can't balance the broom because of my back muscles or lack thereof."

The matron huffs her displeasure before giving in. "There is a salve that may speed up your recovery. If you come before breakfast and after dinner every day, I will apply it."

Harry smiles and looks at her with puppy-eyes. "Or you could give me the salve and I'll convince Fleur to rub it on my back. Help a boy out, Poppy."

"Would you like me to give you some contraceptive potions as well while we are at it?" The healers indignation is clear in her tone.

Harry ignores it. "You know what, that's an excellent idea. Give me a lot of those."

My cheeks redden and I get the urge to cover my face with my hands and groan.

The middle-aged woman splutters and looks at me, then him with a calculating glance before sighing. "You do realise strenuous activities will only make your back worse, right?"

"Poppy, I never thought I would need to teach you about sex. You realise there are ways I can partake in sweet love making while lying on my back," Harry answers cheekily, his wide grin infectious.

The woman huffs and walks to the cabinet to get salve and potions. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Having your muscles get better on their own schedule would be better but considering the task next week, I will give you the salve." She gives me a look that warns against disappointing her. Considering she's the one who checks the champions out after a task, I have no intention of doing so. "Before breakfast and after dinner for a week, apply it on his back, let the muscles absorb it for half an hour before cleaning it and redressing. I assume no explanations are necessary for how the potions work."

I nod mutely and wait to leave the infirmary before commenting with a groan, "that was humiliating."

Harry raises his eyebrow at me. "Sleeping with me is humiliating?"

"No, I... She's like your family and the look she gave me when you asked for contraceptive potions..."

My stuttering is amusing for him if his chuckling is any sign. "Relax, I'm messing with you. Just be glad McGonagall doesn't get too involved in my personal life."

Yeah, that would be a nightmare. That woman scares the crap out of me.

We enter Harry' room to find it in its regular state, no broken canvases, no moved furniture.

"Dobby," is Harry's one-word answer to my shock.

Dobby appears with a pop. "What can Dobby dos for you, Harry James?"

Harry is as surprised as I am at the hyperactive the house-elf's sudden appearance before we realise what happened. Harry's second littlest friend must have been impatient to talk to him. "I didn't mean to call you, buddy, but now that you are here, can you bring us some snacks?"

Little elf snaps his fingers and a small feast appears, but he doesn't leave. He stands there, jumping from one leg to the other with nervous energy. Harry watches the elf in amusement, saying nothing while elf gathers his courage to say what he wants to. "Dobby is glad you are better."

The elf pops away before Harry could thank him or say anything else but Harry does, anyway. "Thank you, Dobby."

Harry moves to the table and sits while I place the basket madam Pomfrey gave me on a nightstand. I turn around to find him watching my back side which makes me smile. "This trouser does wonders, wouldn't you agree?"

His head becomes a blur as he nods. "Still, I'd prefer it if you didn't wear them."

I walk to the cooler, swaying my hips. "Maybe you should take them off then."

The mischievous gleam in his eyes tells me he has an idea I may not like very much. "Ah, but you forget, Poppy said I should avoid strenuous activities."

I enjoy myself, knowing his eyes follow me as I bend over the cooler to get wine. "So, what would you suggest then?" I ask as I move to the table, smiling at his dilated pupils.

He clears his throat before speaking. "Well, you like dancing. I like it when you take your clothes off. I'm sure we can find a combination of the two we will both enjoy."

He wants me to striptease? I should feel indignant or something for being asked to put on a show but I find the idea... enticing. Still, never let a boy assume he can just ask whatever he wants of me. "We eat now, play later."

"Is that a yes?"

The hope and desire in his eyes makes my ego swell. "You'll never know if you don't eat your food."

He smiles widely, judging it a yes, and pours us wine.

I missed this, the easy conversation, joking around and just being myself with him. So, I curse myself for obsessing over a painting. A painting that has everyone but me. "Can I ask you something?"

He takes a bite of sandwich and nods at me.

"The painting you made three days ago. You painted nearly everyone in this school and many people who aren't. Why am I not in it when Aimee and Samantha are?"

He swallows the food on his mouth and takes a large sip of wine before giving me a cocky smile. "Who says you aren't?"

I frown and ponder every part of the painting yet I come up empty.

He takes the shrunk painting out of his pocket and enlarges it so it's the same size as a regular canvas before holding it out for me to take. "Tell me what you see."

I turn the canvas around so I can look at the painting again and my eyes widen in shock. This is a whole new painting. The hill in the drawing becomes my face, two lakes turn into my eyes, the rivers to tears. Trees on either side of the hill turn to blonde hair a couple shades darker than mine but still a close match.

The large painting depicting Harry' life becomes a portrait of me in its smaller form. It is not perfect, there are blemishes over my face, giving me a dirtied appearance, like I fought my way through muddy grounds. Yet it is as perfect as a painting with so many layers can get.

A portrait of me, looking angry, hateful and hurt, crying and sneering, hiding pain and regret. Hundreds of empty faces judging me from both sides. It reminds me how it felt having everyone's eyes on me when I slapped Harry.

The reminder brings back the humiliation I went through, brings back the anger and the tears I didn't let go. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you draw me like you drew everyone else but made me the focus of your painting?" I know I sound like a spoiled child, first asking why he didn't show me any attention, then complaining about how much attention he showed me but… A girl wonders.

He takes a large sip of wine and leans back with a thoughtful hum. "Now, I remember little of my thought process during my downtime so I can't say for sure but I assume it's because you were the focus of my breakdown, the trigger. I was going down already, but the slap was the spark igniting the fire." He points to the canvas. "That's you after the slap, except the tears. Practically the last thing I saw before snapping."

I let out a shaky breath. "I'm not sure whether I should be happy, knowing you made me the focus of yet another painting, or angry at myself for being the one to break you."

"You didn't break me, I was already broken. I've been broken since I was a baby. Yes, you played a part in my latest episode but you are not the reason for it."

"I still feel guilty."

He says nothing for half a minute. "You should take off your clothes."

I peek over the painting at him in confusion. "How would that help?"

"Help what? What were we talking about?" The fake confusion on his face and the ridiculousness of the non sequitur make me laugh. "Come on, take off your clothes. It's been two months since I last saw you naked." His whining tone adds to my laugh.

He definitely knows how to turn someone's moods. "Eat your meal. You look like a corpse with how thin you got."

He sticks out his tongue at me, then stays frozen.

"What is it? You froze?"

"We are a couple now. Boyfriend and girlfriend style."

I cock my head to the side. "I thought you wanted to be a couple."

"The realisation just hit me. Until now, even during our get away from Hogwarts, I always expected you to leave. Now, I have to get used to you not leaving, of waking up next to you in the mornings."

"At least until the school year is over, you'll wake up next to me often."

He furrows his eyebrows and I hate the look in his eyes, the suspicion and fear, knowing I deserve it. "What do you mean?"

"I can't stay in Hogwarts next year now, can I?" I point out.

"Albus gives me a lot of leeway. I'm sure we'll figure something out." He smiles widely. "Good to know you are planning so far ahead. Would you like to pick a wedding dress as well?"

I spew the wine I was drinking, laughing. "I would need to see the ring before deciding on a dress."

He chuckles. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves or this conversation will end on children names, and at fourteen, I don't think I am ready for those conversations, even if the idea has me smiling like a fool."

"I am dating a fourteen-year-old boy," I drawl as the realisation hits me this time.

"Yep, and I'm dating a seventeen-year-old with the body of a supermodel," he sniggers. "I think we both know who is the winner here."

"You are a hero," I point out, disagreeing though I enjoy the compliment.

He shakes his head and says, "Body of a supermodel."

"You saved at least three lives so far, probably more."

"Body of a supermodel."

"You are an amazing painter."

"Body of a supermodel."

"You are winning the Triwizard tournament."

"Have you seen yourself naked? I'm telling you, _the body of a supermodel_ ," he says, putting a lot of emphasis on the last part.

"I'm not sure how to feel about it. Is losing good or bad?"

"I don't know but it doesn't matter. I win."


	9. Episode VIII

**Chapter 1: Unearthed Truths**

 **February 23, 1995**

"Good morning, beautiful."

My blonde goddess gives me a sleepy smile and a kiss. "Good morning."

She raises her arms up and stretches, throwing off the blanket as I watch her, and I can't help consider myself lucky to wake up to such a magnificent view. "Do you have to go to classes today, or can I keep you all to myself, at least until noon?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asks in a husky tone my body reacts to.

Damn you, teenage libido.

"Whatever we can think of," I answer with an easy smile.

She gives me a kiss and stands up, moving over to the basket of potions and lotions Poppy gave us. "How about we focus on your back first?"

I agree with a silent nod and turn around to lie on my front as she walks back. She places the basket next to me and takes her place over my hips. Her weight feels lovely on my back and makes it hard for me to lay face down but I manage.

Since starting on this salve, my recovery speed has almost doubled and while I doubt I will be back to perfect by the Air Challenge in three days, it is better than nothing. I have a few ideas on alternative methods of flying that won't require me to aggravate my back, and even though none of those methods would earn me a victory, I'll settle for keeping the point difference over ten for this one.

Hey! I have a physical disability and honestly, I'd prefer being able to walk to establishing a further lead over my fellow champions, one of which has her hands on my shoulders, doing wonders to my sore muscles.

"Can I ask you something?" Fleur says with an oddly shaking voice, drawing me out of my musings.

"Of course," I answer easily. "Anything."

She stays silent for a long time while her hands continue their ministrations. Just as I think she might have decided against asking whatever that has her so unsure, she stops rubbing, though her hands stand on my back. "Why did you forgive me so quickly?"

The question takes me by surprise and I feel her tense on my back, probably nervous about my silence. "Why wouldn't I?" I ask rhetorically. "I want to be with you, I never hid that. And yes, you did hurt me but…" I shrug before I continue, "You also regretted your actions. And frankly, I am raised by Albus Dumbledore and if there is one thing you should know about him, he's all about forgiveness. It rubs off on you."

"What do you mean?" she asks, her hands returning to doing a work Poppy would praise.

"Why stay upset and deny myself what I want when I could forgive and have what I want? To keep feeding my hurt towards you would achieve nothing. You made a mistake, you apologised and I'm- like- seventy-five percent sure you won't repeat it again. I think the time I spend with you is enjoyable and worth the risk of possible pain you can cause me."

She stays silent for a while as I enjoy the work she's doing turning my body to mush. "But how can you just… put aside your anger like that?"

"Anger? Why would I be angry with you? I was upset, hurt. I don't own you and you never promised me anything. We weren't even dating, really. So, getting angry with you for going out with someone else wouldn't make any sense." I shake my head and move to the next thing. "The slap on the face… Well, that's a bit more grey area. Normally, I'm an anti-violence guy, especially violence used for intimidation or for violence's sake, and I always defend myself, sometimes even disproportionately."

"But yours was… out of humiliation and hurt more than anything, and while another attempt at such a thing would raise my ire, this one… didn't deserve it, if that makes any sense. Besides, I bet my semi-cool exit hurt more than any angry remark could."

She chuckles, making a few bells ring in my belly, both with pleasure at the sound and with the vibrations coursing through her body and travelling down to mine. "So, you went for emotional abuse instead."

"We sound so fucked up, don't we?" I ask with a grin. "Not the most conventional beginning for a great romance, I have to admit."

Her work done, she lies on top of me, hugging me from behind. "But we got there," she whispers, her breath on my neck. "I hope that's enough."

I turn my head a little to look at her face, her silvery hair blocking us from the rest of the world, creating a world of our own. "You saw what I created at my lowest." I give a cocky grin. "I think I can do anything at my best, even make you fall in love with me."

She snorts but pauses. "That was the most presumptuous thing I have ever heard but... I can't say it's wrong."

My grin softens. "Oh?"

Her cheeks darken as I watch her closely, loving the softness in her eyes as she refuses to look away. "I meant when I said I want to be yours. That's what scared me so much."

I open my mouth but am cut off by a tapping sound by the window. Still, the moment is far too beautiful to look away; her honest, vulnerable look is too beautiful for anything else in the world to matter, so I wave an irritated hand to allow the owl to enter. The owl flies inside and lends next to our attached bodies, hooting irritatingly before another wave silences it.

I absolutely refuse to look away from this mesmerising view.

The silence stretches between us, neither feeling the need to fill it with words, both knowing this moment is the start of something glorious.

Time stretches, minutes become hours, clouds shift, and the world continues to turn without either of us moving.

In the end, it is Fleur who breaks the silence when an irritated-to-be-forgotten-about owl, snowy and beautiful, bites her finger hard enough to draw blood. "Ow! Why would you do that?" Fleur asks as she turns to the owl, her hand moving to her lips to suck on the precious blood by reflex.

Owl gives Fleur a _look_ before rolling her eyes and raising her claw for Fleur to take the parchment tied there, making me snort. I didn't know owls could be so sassy.

"Fine, you stupid thing," Fleur hisses at the bird, blushing in embarrassment.

As soon as Fleur detach the parchment, the owl jumps in the air and flies to land on the back of a chair, but only after slapping the blonde on my back with a wing.

Merlin, the owl just schooled the veela princess. Oh, how I glad I am for Albus' pensieve. Just living this scene can't be enough, I must relive it, often. And with Aimee and Samantha. Possibly with Hermione too, just to mess with Fleur.

"Shit!" Fleur cries, unaware of my traitorous thoughts, putting them on pause. "My mother and sister are coming to Britain to watch the next task."

"I take it that's a bad thing," I comment dryly, giving an innocent smile when Fleur glares. "Right, controlling and demanding."

"She already suspected I have a closer relationship with you than I implied. She'll be unbearable," Fleur grouses, burying her head on my neck.

I fail to prevent a chuckle from escaping. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the big bad Mama Delacour."

She bits into my shoulder as a response, her mouth landing right next to a hickey she caused the night before, making me shiver in remembrance. "She'll probably find a way to corner you," she warns.

"And you don't want her to know?" I half-ask, disappointed and hurt.

She, again, bits into my shoulder. "Don't be stupid. I don't care whether she knows. I just know she'll be as unpleasant as humanly possible."

I give her a wide-eyed look. "I can't believe you called me stupid."

She tries to stay serious but a small smile escapes her for a short moment and she taps my shoulder. "Be serious."

"Oh, that's an idea," I say eagerly. "How about we have a family meal? You bring your mother and sister and I bring Sirius and Remus."

She gives me a dubious look. "No offence but that's an awful idea; my mother would eat those two alive."

My answering grin is anything but innocent. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." A condescending smile is Fleur's only answer. "How about a bet?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"The winner chooses our first date," I answer immediately, an idea forming in my head. "And by date, I mean to the end of the night, whenever that may be."

She considers for a moment and assured by her victory, nods before leaving my back and laying next to me. "Okay. But be ready to dance," she warns, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"I knew it was my 'drunken monkey' that won you over." I give a cocky grin as I turn around in bed to lay on my side, my hand finding her fingers to play with them.

She openly laughs, her eyes closing as she softy pushes my forehead with her own. "Oh, yes. It was so sexy, I couldn't help myself."

"That's understandable," I whisper before leaning in and giving her a kiss. "It's the animal magnetism of The Monkey."

She smiles against my lips, her eyes bright.

"Just be ready to fend off against young ladies getting caught in my charm."

"Just… Shut up," she says, her mirth obvious in her tone. Her hand leaves mine and travels through my arm to my cheek as she caresses it. "Come on. Let's have breakfast," she says with a soft tap on my cheek after a few minutes of silence during which thinking is too much of a chore for me.

I wait in bed for extra few moments just to watch her as she walks to the table, admiring the view. By the time she reaches to the table, Dobby has already laid out a spread.

"So," I say after a few minutes of satisfied quiet as we enjoy the first bit of food since the previous afternoon. "Your mother is coming."

She sighs in disappointment at the subject though knows we have to discuss it. "Yes, and if there is one thing she never fails to be, it is antagonising. So, expect thinly veiled insults and convoluted needling."

"She sounds like she has a mastery in passive aggression," I comment, throwing a piece of pastry into my mouth.

"Wrote the book on it," Fleur agrees. "You can be the world's best wizard in every sense of the word but she'll find something to be condescending about."

"I'm sure I'll survive," I answer as I lean forward in my seat.

"I've no doubt you will," Fleur agrees. "Part of me fears the result if you can't keep yourself from snapping back at her. Part of me can't wait to see it happen so I can watch her face."

"I'll try to be in my best behaviour but… I don't have a great track record with handling antagonising people," I warn honestly, drumming my fingers on the table softly in a slow rhythm. "Our second meeting should have given you an idea."

She tilts her head to a side as she examines me. "I attributed that to the shock of the moment, mostly."

"That was a part of the reason." I nod. "But it only increased the intensity. My response would be just as disagreeing and vehement if not as disrespectful if it were under less… stressful circumstances."

She leans forward on her seat, giving me an intense look. "That reminds me. I meant to ask earlier, but it never came up. What do you know about how you got involved in the tournament?" she asks, burning with curiosity. "I know you know more than you let on when we talked by the lake. You are training far too hard for it to just be for the tournament. Then there was your cryptic warning to my father. Both those things tell me you are preparing for something big."

I watch her in silence for a moment as I consider what to tell her. If the knowledge of Voldemort's actions gets out, the situation would get escalated, either by Voldemort to feed the nervousness of public or by the potential disbelievers who would make up an ulterior motive for our unsubstantiated suspicion.

But, this is Fleur, the daughter of the Head of French Auror Division. If anyone knows the value of discretion, it's her. A trait, I'm sure, she inherited from her father and had to cultivate during her formative years.

And this is Fleur. If I want a real relationship with her, she has to know what being a part of my life entails, with the good and the bad. I hope I don't freak her out too much.

"You heard the story of Halloween of nineteen eighty-one," I start. "What you don't realise is, most of it is blatantly false. My survival of the killing curse wasn't a coincidence or a result of some hidden power I have. I survived thanks to an ingenious ritual my mother came up with. For the ritual to work, she needed to sacrifice herself and it is her sacrifice which kept me alive."

Fleur's eyes widen as my lips curl up in a melancholic smile. "You _do_ remember your mother's death."

"Yes, but that's not how I know it. The morning of the attack, Albus investigated the scene and found my mother's notes. He reconstructed the ritual with a lot of effort, thinking it could be a key to finding a practical defence against the killing curse. He made progress but couldn't figure out a way to accomplish it without the sacrifice of a life. Anyway, neither are the reason I am telling you this. Another misinformation about that night is the death of Voldemort; he is still alive."

Her shock is not surprising. What makes me smile is the trust she's showing; not even questioning the truthfulness of my words even though they go against what everyone in the magical world assumes. She doesn't take a moment to process; it is now a fact for her.

Her trust feels empowering.

"Through means, I suspect only Albus knows, he survived. I found out about his survival during the attempted theft of the Philosopher's Stone in my first year."

"Dumbledore told me what happened, how you had to kill your teacher," she cuts me off and surprises me.

I shake my head. "I'm sure he didn't tell you the most important part of what happened. The Defence Professor of that year, Quirrell, tried to steal the stone, but he wasn't after it to use it himself. Voldemort was behind the whole thing." I laugh at my bad pun while she gives me a puzzled stare. "Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. Well, not possessed. He was still in control of his actions but Voldemort was sharing his body." I chortle. "It was an ugly sight."

I take a deep breath before continuing, "I am telling you this because he is back in action. The imposter professor I killed was his agent in Hogwarts. He's the one responsible for my name coming out of the goblet. Voldemort wants me, I'm not sure why. According to the dead imposter, Voldemort has plans for me which may or may not involve my death. He hinted that Voldemort may prefer to add me to his ranks though."

Fleur takes a large sip of coffee while trying to process the information. "Would you? I mean, if he offered you, would you join him?"

The question makes me burst into hysterical laughter. "Are you kidding me? That homicidal maniac killed my parents. Hell, he is personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. Because of him, I had to kill four people so far. He stole my family, my childhood, my innocence. The moment I get the chance, I will blow his brains out."

She gives me a soft smile as she puts her cup down. "Yes, I wasn't expecting a different reaction, to be honest." She shakes her head. "What I'm curious about is how easy you make killing He-Whose-Name-Mustn't-Be-Spoken-Unless-You-Are-Stupidly-Brave sound."

"That's called Gryffinitus, a common alignment for my ilk." I enjoy her smile for a moment. "I'm really not much fun of hyphenated names. I know there is a reason people still refuse to say his name but… it feels childish to do call him stupid names. Call him Tom if you must."

"While France felt his terror too, it wasn't as bloody for us," Fleur says with a nonchalant shrug. "But the French origin of his chosen name feels even more silly. He's mostly mentioned as _the_ Dark Lord."

"That's different here because mostly, only the people who support his cause call him Dark Lord," I warn. While most of the population don't care what anyone calls Tom as long as they avoid his monicker, his hardcore fans and enemies care about the difference. I know because Sirius got in trouble when he challenged a Frenchman who called Tom by the less reputable monicker.

I was six; he spent a week in lockup.

I take a breath and focus on her actual question. "I don't think I'm powerful enough to defeat him," I confess. "Hell, I doubt anyone but Albus could. That doesn't mean I won't do my best. But, my initial goal is to get stronger."

She looks dubious and a little afraid but doesn't address the issue. "You said Da- Tom put your name into the goblet. Why?"

"Two reasons: to identify me and kidnap me," I answer right away. "I think he suspected my identity but to make sure, he used my birth certificate."

Her eyes bore into mine with a frightening intensity. "I don't care about the last part. What was that about kidnapping you said?"

"He plans to kidnap me. The good news is, we know the two possible times he might strike. The bad news is, we have no idea why he plans to kidnap me other than half a theory with no evidence to support it. Another good news is, we know he doesn't have a… real body. Another bad news is, with the death of his inside man, he's calling his trusted followers."

I shrug at her confusion. "The list goes on like that. For every piece of good news, there is a bad one and all we can do is wait for the plot to thicken while we prepare. Without knowing exactly when, where, why, with whom and how, we have nothing concrete to work with and no moves. We haven't even been able to locate him, let alone try a preemptive move against him."

"How can you be so calm about this?" she asks in a high-pitched tone of distress. "This is the most feared dark wizard since at least the Statute of Secrecy. And he's coming after you!"

"That's the story of my life since I was a baby, Fleur," I answer with an aimless wave. "I've faced him three times. The first one turned me into an orphan and him a wraith. The second one turned me into a killer and him a wraith. His defeat third time was inconsequential, but I still defeated him."

I frown in thought as my eyes find the landscape outside my window, misty mountains and the endless forest. "Don't misunderstand me, I know he's powerful; much more powerful than I am at this stage but worrying too much or fearing the fate that may befall me would make no difference in the grand scheme of things. Where Tom Riddle is concerned, I am and will always be in the thick of things."

She lets out a breath as I turn my attention back at her, her eyes moist as she watches me.

I take a deep breath and release the morbid tension of the subject, focusing my attention on the beautiful girl in front of me. "Nevermind that now, we have more important things to focus on."

She raises an eyebrow in askance, the forced smile on her face lets me know she knows my move but wants to play along.

I pursue the first idea that comes to my mind as a change of subject. "With my back the way it is, I need to figure out a way to fly a broom without aggravating my injuries."

Her interest in the new subject is neither fake nor exaggerated as she leans forward on her seat, her feet back on the ground as her arms rest on the table. "You have a plan?"

"Yes, but I would appreciate your help all the same."

Normally, I don't like sharing my ideas. Not because of any trust issues but because I enjoy keeping things mysterious and dramatic, but the eager smile Fleur rewards me with is enough incentive for me to tell her every detail of every plan I ever come up with.

"I thought I could come up with a contraption enchanted to mimic body movements to allow me to control the broom without putting a strain on my back."

"Like a yoke?"

Like a what, now? "What's a yoke?"

"What pilots use to control aeroplanes," she answers, her hands in front of her in a driving motion. "They look like a driving wheel."

My both eyebrows raise in surprise at the trivia, impressed.

"What? I am a curious person," she grouses upon seeing my reaction. "I even took a few piloting lessons."

"You did? How?"

She shrugs. "It's not that difficult, really. There are many small aerodromes in France that offer lessons by the hour."

"Okay, but wouldn't you need a Muggle identification? Isn't there an age requirement?"

"I don't know about Britain but in France, the age requirement is fifteen and you can get a Muggle identification from the ministry for a handful of galleons."

Well, that's a surprise. I always thought requirements for piloting an aircraft, no matter how small and basic, would be high. The Muggle identification explanation makes sense though. Even with the secrecy, offering Muggle identification makes sense, if only to allow the magical population to blend in.

I nod distractedly before shaking out of my surprise. "Anyway, yes, a similar system to aeroplane controls, but one that allows me to steer the broom using only my foot. I have a basic design in mind but, as you know, I'm not much of an enchanter."

She gives me an impatient look when I don't immediately share my design. This is a side of her I haven't seen before and it reminds me of Hermione a little. Fleur is just as fervent as my bushy-haired friend though the younger girl's enthusiasm for knowledge extends to more areas.

Well, no one's enthusiasm for knowledge can compare to Hermione's. She wants to know everything about everything. It's a sickness, really.

Okay, maybe I don't really think it's a sickness, but that doesn't mean I don't tease Hermione about it. What kind of a friend would I be if I didn't tease her about her passion?

The ease with which Fleur takes apart my, albeit still raw, design and improves on it is a sight to see and for the next few hours, all I can do is, nod and mumble as she creates for me a perfect way to control my broom without using my upper body. All I can do is watch in awe as she shows me how deep her knowledge runs and why Goblet of Fire thinks she makes a great champion.

I have no doubt if one of the tasks involve casting or dismantling enchantments, she'll win the round by a great margin.

It makes sense now just why my enchantments don't last and are never powerful enough. Fleur mentions mechanics and principles I haven't heard of. I didn't even realise I had to take rules of physics into account when enchanting an object such as a broom.

By the time she runs out of steam, I am humbled by the knowledge that what I know about magic barely scratches the surface, and more than a little aroused by the passion Fleur shows. A new determination flows through me with the realisation of how little I know and I make a silent vow to study more.

After I demonstrate Fleur just how sexy she is when she's on a roll, of course.

 **-HP-**

 **February 24, 1995**

This is awkward.

I am sitting in my regular place in Great Hall, surrounded by my best friends, Fleur and her best friends and the silence is oh, so fucking awkward.

I won't lie to you and say I didn't expect tension between my friends and Fleur as Hermione never was subtle and she never attempted to hide her dislike of Fleur. But the level of animosity between them is ridiculous and not laughing takes an effort while our large group eats in silence.

Ron shares my amusement and doesn't even try to hide it, watching the two girls with a large grin, eating without even a glance at his plate.

Neville, on the other hand, couldn't make himself smaller. Poor guy. Even though his self-confidence improved by leaps and bounds, he still doesn't feel comfortable with confrontations. Thank god, Ginny is sitting next to him and distracting him or he wouldn't touch his plate.

I know this animosity cannot continue, not between one of my best friends and my girlfriend, but I am enjoying it far too much to force a change yet. No, right now, my thought process revolves around ways to take advantage of the situation.

"A lovely weather we are having," Balzac says, his lips drawn in a thin line in an attempt to hold in a laughter.

"Indeed, my friend," I respond with a nod, my face pink with exertion. "Everyone loves a good thunderstorm."

"What's not to like?" Aimee joins us, throwing a not-so-subtle glance at Fleur. "I always enjoyed muddy grounds and drenched shoes."

"And fuzzy hair thanks to the charged air," Ron agrees with an awed glance at Hermione's monstrosity of hair. Her bush resembles a brown steel wool more than anything a human could produce.

Hermione throws a glare at Ron at the same time Fleur makes it obvious what she thinks of Aimee's apparent betrayal.

That's enough for me to lose the fight to the inevitable and I give a full-belly laugh. Everyone except the two upset ladies joins me in merriment, attracting weird looks from other people in the hall.

Fleur's hand finds my thigh while I'm doubled over and pinches me, making me laugh even harder while Ron receives a slightly more violent treatment from Hermione in the form of a slap to the back of his head.

When my laughter subsides, my eyes are blurry due to tears of mirth and I'm sure I have a bruise in my leg. "I'm sorry," I say in-between deep breaths, hugging Fleur's arm, my forehead resting on her shoulder to hide my dishonesty.

She shakes her head at me and pinches me one more time. "I'm sure you are."

I look up to see her pout at me cutely, her cheeks pink and lean in to give her a chaste kiss. Her pout turns to a cute smile while her cheeks gain even more colour.

The heat of Hermione's glare breaks up our sweet moment, making me roll my eyes. "I gotta go see about a Headmaster," I say to the table as I climb off the bench.

Nods all around, I leave the table and climb the endless stairs of Hogwarts, my mind on the upcoming meeting. I should probably have had this conversation with Albus earlier but being a teenager, the affairs of my heart took priority over whatever plot Tom is cooking, and I don't have it in me to regret my priorities.

Neither does Albus as I trust he realised the sudden flare of pain I experienced by the lake while I was painting my biggest piece yet.

Still, even with Fleur's delightful presence, a part of my mind couldn't help worry about it. While I can't claim to be a master of the art, I have become proficient in occlumency but no matter how much I tried- and believe me I did- I couldn't get free of the vision's grasp. And that freaks me out, the inability and helplessness I felt.

Since my last session with Snape, the realisation of how vulnerable I am to mental manipulation has been eating at me; a gnawing worry that was further amplified by the vision. The knowledge that wizards, if sufficiently proficient in legilimency, can change my perception of reality…

For all my strengths and flaws, I am an intellectual person. Maybe not an avid reader, nor a perfect student like Hermione, but I am an armchair philosopher and a man of many hobbies. And everything that defines me; everything I take pride in, depends on and fertilised by my mind and perception of reality.

I absolutely refuse to be a slave to another's whims and I am prepared to do whatever necessary to ensure the integrity of my mind.

Albus' bid to enter makes me jump out of my skin as I realise where I am. An irrational fear grips my heart momentarily as I try to remember the walk here and giving the password to the gargoyle.

I breathe easier once I realise it was my distracted state and nothing more that had me freaking out like a teenage Mad-Eye. I push the door open and shoot a smile at my beaming mentor, ignoring the ghostly whisper in the back of my mind. 'Is it paranoia if they are out to get you?'

A tea set is waiting on the table as I sit down on one of the comfortable chairs and breathe in the delicious aroma of freshly baked scones. I truly missed this, my semi-regular meetings with the merry old man. His wise perspective and puzzling ideas have always given me a fresh look at things and a sense of excitement at dullest of happenings of the world.

"How are you today, dear boy?" he asks kindly once I settle in and prepare my tea.

"Jury is still out on that one," I answer after a moment of thought and with a small smile, and take a sip of what's possibly the world's most delicious tea.

The tea was a point of resentment between us once upon a time as Albus doesn't let me take some with me and refuses to tell me where he gets it from. It didn't last long though as after two weeks of the cold shoulder; I returned for more of the tea and good conversation.

Now that I think about it, that's probably why he's so strict about it.

Aw, man! Now, I feel awful for giving him the cold shoulder.

"Whatever do you mean?"

I take another sip, enjoying the warmth spreading through my body and using the time to gather my thoughts. "Things are great with Fleur and with my usual after-breakdown euphoria, life is glorious."

"But…" he prods, no doubt knowing the shadow hanging over the ecstasy of the last few days.

I sigh and put down my cup before crossing my feet and leaning back. "But, as you have no doubt deduced already, I had another vision and no matter how much I tried, I wasn't able to stop it."

He drums his fingers on the table as he looks at me with his piercing blue eyes over his half-moon glasses. "And you don't think your failure is due to any inadequacy in your part over the mastery of your mind?"

"No," I refuse with a single, confident shake of my head. "I can't say I am a master by any stretch of the word but the vision felt… inevitable for the lack of a better word. I can sense subtle outside influences to my mind- and this was anything but subtle- and I can throw off Snape. The vision didn't feel like an outside influence. It hailed from within."

The resigned frown on his lips is all I need to know Albus expected that would be the case but hoped otherwise. "That is unfortunate."

I snicker at the understatement. "It wasn't all for nothing, at least. The first time I had one, I wasn't even consciously aware of it. His actions felt like mine, no matter how out of character that would be. His emotions felt like mine. This time, I was able to distance myself from the memory and keep an analytical mind."

His countenance turns pleased with that, giving me a nod and a genuine smile. "That is, indeed, good news. It means while we will need to search for alternative methods to keep these visions at bay, he won't be able to influence you if you master occlumency."

"Oh, I have no intention of dropping the subject even if it were useless against Tom," I say vehemently. "In our last session, Snape proved just how dangerous a legilimens can be and I have no desire to fall victim to one."

"I hope you realise it will take years before you can master occlumency, not that I'm trying to dissuade you," he warns, though pleased with my resolution. "But that's a discussion for another time. Vision?"

A theatrical gasp pushes out of my lips as my hand close down on my mouth to hide my smile. "You don't care about me at all, do you? All you care about is _him!_ "

"Drat! You weren't supposed to know that," he deadpans in a dry tone.

"Right. _Tom_ was with three other men. One blonde in a business suit, the other two with dark hair and traditional, dark wizard robes. I didn't recognise any of them. The blonde looked… dangerous; predatory, like he wants a nice, warm bath prepared with the blood of innocent. They were making a deal but I don't know what the deal was about. What I do know is, Tom plans to reunite with his old gang. He was paranoid but eager about it," I trail off, my eyes on the mountain range view of Albus' office yet seeing nothing.

"And?" Albus prods, refocusing my attention on the vision.

"My name came up only once throughout the vision. Wormtail asked if it was wise to include the other Death Eaters while 'his lord' was still so weak." I give a wicked grin, enjoying the coming memory for a moment. "After a small taste of Cruciatus, Tom answered. He- He said he needed more resources if he wanted to challenge me…" I let out a frustrated breath, my confusion obvious in my look. "I don't get it. I know I'm nowhere near powerful enough to challenge Tom. And the way he said it… Like it was a game and he was eager to play. He sounded actually pleased with the show I put on."

Albus chuckles at my frustration though he himself looks confused about our enemy's behaviour. "I have spent years trying to understand how Tom's mind works, Harry, and trust me when I say he is a brilliant man. Can you not think any reason your performance would please him?"

I try, I truly do but I am shooting blanks, and the look I give the old man mirrors that, making him grin with unrestrained amusement.

For a moment he says nothing but in the end, he must have decides me an answer for once, instead of turning this into a puzzle. "Tell me, would you watch Tom if he was competing in the tournament?"

"Of course," I respond immediately. "It would give me a chance to…" I trail off at the realisation that I am giving my enemy the perfect chance to see my talents and weaknesses.

Albus nods though I am only vaguely aware of the movement from the corner of my eyes. "I see you understand my point. Another possible reason for his pleasure at your success is, your power feeds his ego. As far as he is aware, the last two times he attacked you, he lost. He'd prefer to have underestimated you and lost because of that instead of some unknown work of fate. He can learn from a mistake."

"Do you think it was a mistake for me to perform as I did?"

He shakes his head. "No. Call me foolish or naïve but I believe it is important we live our lives as we see fit instead of hiding away in fear."

"Says the man who insisted on changing my name." I snort.

He takes a sip of his tea, a small smile playing on his lips at my words. "Indeed, it does sound hypocritical of me but I liked what you said to Miss Skeeter in your first interview. Harry Potter is just a name, not a definition of who you are. Your character and behaviour didn't change only the people's preferred designate for you did."

He is right, of course. I refuse to cower in fear, no matter how dangerous and powerful Tom is.

And he is powerful, I have no delusions about the disparity of power between us. I may be a prodigious wizard but compared to the vast knowledge and experience of the likes of Albus and Tom, I am but a toddler playing at being a grown-up.

Tom Marvolo Riddle is a wizard who had the wizardry population of Britain on their knees, either in servitude or in fear. People are still afraid to speak of him and uttering his name is an instant mood-kill across the isles.

I am a fourteen-year-old wizard, miles above his peers to be sure, but a fourteen-year-old nonetheless.

No. Against Tom, I have no chance of surviving unless Ladies Luck and Fate intervene on my behalf and colour me presumptuous but I refuse to allow others, even anthropomorphic deities, to decide my future.

So, you may ask, what I plan to do to level the playing field? How can I hope to stand up to such a powerful figure as Tom Riddle? Who am I to imagine I can be as great as he is?

Well, first of all, back up, dude. This isn't an interrogation. Jeez.

All joking aside, a confrontation against Tom feels inevitable. And I need to be ready. Or at least as ready as I can be. While Sirius and Remus are great teachers, their experience extends only so far. I think it's time I ask Flitwick for help.

His duelling style is something I think I can imitate up to a point though I doubt I can match his speed.

But even that would leave my education lopsided as Flitwick, like Sirius and Remus, is an ardent dissident of dark magic. No, I need the help of someone who knows dark arts inside and out. Someone who knows Death Eater tactics and what I will be up against. I need someone who will not hesitate to make me suffer if my performance is not enough. Someone with enough knowledge of the types of magic Tom uses to teach me how to defend against it. Who I need is…

Merlin, no! Don't say it. Don't.

… Snape.

Fuck.

But even Snape can't teach me all I need to survive against Tom. There is only one person who can do that.

"Albus, I'm going to need to confiscate your pensieve and a few memories."

Tom himself.

 **-HP-**

I leave Headmasters' Office in deep thought, sombre knowledge of my lacking running through my mind, and let my legs take me where they may. Albus and I discussed many things from possible ways Tom may make his attempt, to occlumency and a debate on forgiveness and affection.

In our talk, Albus confessed that while it is near impossible, legilimency used in conjunction with Imperius curse and other similar mind control magic can cause enough pressure on a person's psyche to completely revamp their personality. That, added to Barty Jr.'s allusion to Tom's possible desire to recruit me, is freaking me out.

I am a powerful wizard with a fragile mind; I have no delusions about that. How can I fool myself into thinking otherwise when just a week ago, I was batshit crazy? And it is that distant possibility that has me so wrapped up in my world as I step out to the Clock Tower Courtyard with unseeing eyes, ignoring the gaggle of my fellow students.

Just the thought of a wizard of my talent under the tutelage of Tom with a personality to match… The amount of destruction we could cause, the amount of pain, it is difficult to think.

Not difficult in the sense that I can't, because I can imagine the results. A visage appears before my eyes, looking just like me yet so different. Red cruel eyes instead of soft green ones; blood dripping robes instead of my preferred jeans and long-sleeved shirt combo; a vicious smirk instead of my cheery smile; a nightmare in every sense of the word.

The mirage stands thirty feet across me and raises his hand to comb his hair back as his smile widens to a crazed imitation of happiness. "You think you can escape this? You think you can avoid becoming me?" the figure whispers, followed by a high-pitched laughter.

My hold over reality shatters in an instant even as I try to shake myself out of this cruel nightmare I see. "I will never let anyone turn me into you."

His laughter turns into an insane cackle of a broken mind; of _my_ broken mind. "I think the more important question is, why would you fight against it? Why fight this when you can embrace your power?"

I shake my head, in denial, in refusal; I don't know. "This isn't power," I say pointing at his blood covered robes. "This is madness and destruction, nothing else."

"Oh, but it _is_ ," he answers, no sign of his previous amusement in his hate-filled gaze. "You spend your time painting like a child, ignoring your calling, listening to an old man's foolish ideas when you could be out there, remaking the world in your image."

"I will never become you!"

"Are you sure about that, Harry Potter?" he hisses, taking an aggressive step towards me. "Do you think you are strong enough to fight _my Lord_?"

At the mention of the man, my scar flares to life, burning just as strongly as it did when I was fighting against him at eleven, turning my vision blurry and driving me to my knees.

"You see how powerful he is? How grand?" my counterpart gloats in sick pleasure and leans over my kneeling form, somehow moving faster than what I would have thought possible.

I grit my teeth and try to force my body to ignore the pain but it is hard. The figure standing above me raises the bony wand I remember from my visions and caresses it lovingly before aiming it at my scar and whispering, " _Crucio."_

My mind goes blank as I writhe on the ground, pain coursing through my body, breaking apart cells and my whole being in one fell swoop.

And just as suddenly, the pain is gone, leaving me choking in my vomit on the ground. I spit the remaining portion of the scones I had with Grandpa Albus and send a silent thank you to him for the tea that makes the experience easier on my stomach.

My hands on the ground, I raise myself with a herculean effort; my arms, and indeed, my whole body protesting my stupidity but I ignore it. A soft, heart-warming tune fills the air though, for the life of me, I can't tell where it's coming from, my attention fixed firmly on the hateful figure standing a few inches from me. "I would die before turning into you," I snarl, blood and spittle flying out of my mouth.

"My Lord can arrange that," he tells me with a smile. "Just like he arranged our little girlfriend's death after he _fucked_ her over her family's dead bodies."

That… That hits me like a freight train; an unbidden image of such a scene searing itself onto my brain, right next to the memory of my mother's death. It also proves the foil for this mirage as my mind protests the image and reasserts itself, reality yanking back into place with a vengeance that makes my eyes water.

And the reality isn't sunshine and roses. All around me, shocked eyes watch the scene with unbridled and morbid curiosity; judging me like they wont to do. Three sets of eyes stand apart from the group with their fear almost tangible in their eyes.

The perpetrators.

I glance down to see two broken vials with wisps of dark red smoke coming out of them. A potion induced nightmare? Creative and cruel.

"You have overreached with this one, fellas," I croak, my voice spent from screaming though I have no recollection of doing so. With a flick, my wand appears in my shaking hand as I convince myself the mirage had no real effect on my body; that the phantom pains sending tremors across my nerves has no bearing in reality. "And I have had it with you."

The hell I unleash on them as the crowd escapes the line of fire is a sight to see as spell after spell leaves my wand, raining down destruction on the three redheads who have the presence of mind to shield against my wrath with everything they have.

I expected an attack from the twins, albeit not one as heinous as this one, but Bill is a surprise. My dislike of him aside, he never struck me as a vindictive type, other than your usual macho bullshit and this was far too cruel for such a retaliation. Not that I am inclined to care for their motives right now.

No, they will feel my anger and if I have to break bones to do it, so be it.

The redheads prove themselves at least adequate as they weather my spells with only minor cuts before they retaliate, putting me on the defensive for a short time.

The first spell heading my way is a body bind. Amateurs. I move half a foot to left and spell passes me by. Apparently, not letting the spell hit me was insulting to the trio because they follow up with curses and hexes at the same time. This time, dodging is not an option as the spells fly at either side of me so I twirl my wand and conjure a shield.

Three spells splash against my shield with no effect other than a metallic clanking sound. I consider firing back but choose not to do anything. Provocation is always a good strategy. "Come on, man, I thought you could at least make this challenging. I was joking when I said you must be a charity case for Gringotts but I'm not so sure anymore."

A part of me knows the trio standing against me probably made a mistake with the potions they made intending to only humiliate me. Another part remembers the pain I suffered and the fear that gripped my heart at my counterparts words and doesn't care.

One twin moves to my right as the other circles the other way. That's a mistake. Bill takes his casting up a notch, two curses leave his wand almost simultaneously followed by one curse each from the twins. I crouch low and let my shield dissolve away. Bill's two curses splash against the wall behind me with no visible effects while one twin is hit by the spell his counterpart cast. The other twin conjures a hasty shield, enough to save him from feeling his doppelgänger's curse. The slower one's bleeding arm puts a smile on my face.

Must be a cutter.

Smiling cheekily at the bleeding redhead, I cast one of my own spells. A small bird flies up and explodes in a bright white flash over my head, blinding the all three of my assailants. That should give me enough breathing room to focus on the bleeding arsehole.

I stand straight, take a deep breath and start casting at a furious pace. A stunning curse, a disarming charm, a body bind, a cutting curse, a vanishing spell, another body bind and a swarm of bees leave my wand one after the other.

A minute after I stand, the Peter stands frozen, naked except his boxer, and with red marks all over his body as the bee venom coursing in his veins cause him considerable pain. His wide eyes move from side to side in pain and fear yet he finds no release. His wand is on the ground, twenty feet away from him.

Eye for an Eye is what he gets for vanishing my clothes in the middle of Great Hall and causing me unimaginable pain with the phantom Cruciatus.

I turn around to deal with the second twin but have to shield against two hexes as my opponents have their eyesight back. I wasn't fast enough to go on the offensive when it was three against one but two against one is easier to handle.

Three snakes and the same number of birds leave my wand, followed by a hasty shield to stave off a hex from the remaining twin before I cast an urination spell used by healers for patients in a coma. Bill deals with the first two snakes without difficulty but the other one slithers towards him while the birds circle him, keeping him from casting anything which gives me a small window to deal with the twin.

The twin in question sends a weird-looking purple spell which once again splashes on my shield as a stunner followed by a stream of water leaves my wand. He dodges the stunner but is not fast enough to do anything for the water as he gets soaked. I cast a mild lightening hex followed by a freezing charm on the water as soon as it touches the twin, causing him enough pain as revenge and trapping him in an icy prison, taking him out of the equation, at least for now.

Now one on one, Bill's spell-casting becomes more erratic and dangerous.

As soon as he finishes the last snake, he casts another stunner but dealing with a stunner is no hardship as it is off the mark. When I turn to face him, I see the realisation set in his eyes as he sees the ice sculpture of his brother. He follows the stunner with two curses I don't recognise and an exploding hex and a shredding hex.

Trying to protect the idiotic onlookers in the vicinity from his bad aim, I cast a wide area shield but the last hex hits the mark, shredding my long-sleeved t-shirt. I tear off what remains of my shirt, leaving my upper body naked. Thankfully, the adrenaline combined with the warm liquid dripping from back that I am too focussed to investigate is enough to stave off the cold for now.

I cast an overpowered finger breaking curse and one of my own, an exploding bird curse. The finger breaking curse sizzle against his shield as do two of the birds. Third bird to make contact breaks the shield and the last two explodes upon getting near Bill, leaving burn marks on left side of his face and his right arm.

His pained screams is a music to my ears, and that thought makes hesitate as I realise just how much the mirage affected me.

My hesitation costs me as a sickly yellow curse hits my left shin, a burning sensation makes it impossible to move my leg. I don't have either the time or the knowledge to deal with whatever curse destroying my leg is, so I cast a hasty but powerful suspension charm.

Suspension charms are used to keep food or unfinished products in the same condition for a short period. I'm not sure whether using it on a human body is a good idea, but it is the only thing I can come up with at the moment.

Focusing back on my enemy, because he is an enemy after casting whatever that curse was, I attack in earnest. An animal of pure fire leaves my wand a few seconds before a hallucination curse does. I follow that with two severing curses aimed at his foot. He deals with the animal by conjuring water but the resulting smoke hides my other curses, only one missing the mark.

As he rolls around three feet away from where his foot still is and screams, I focus on calming my breath as the crowd surrounding us look at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. Summoning the wands of my attackers, I cast a silencing charm on Bill. "This's the _third_ time someone attacked me in the last six weeks. I am sick of having to defend myself!"

Levitating the other two redheads next to Bill's prone body, I bind them all with ropes, silence them and let other magic I cast dissolve away. "I don't know what you think you were going to accomplish with that trick with the potion and I can't find it in my heart to care about your motives," I say, my tone low and dangerous as the trio watches me with horror. "I am sick of having to defend myself. Sick of having to hurt others to protect myself. Here is a fun fact for you," I begin but pause.

I look up at the crowd, the interest in their eyes sickening me. "And this goes for everyone, so please, listen carefully," I continue in a louder voice. "You can attack me with everything you have and while my back is turned but there is one thing you will never see me do; _lose._ If there is one thing you should take away from what you've seen of me so far; it is that no matter the odds, no matter the consequences and no matter the pain you may cause me, I win. And I will always win."

I drop the silencing charm, allowing his painful screams to ring across the courtyard to remind everyone what crossing me entails before reapplying the spells as the man cries in silence. "I always win. You may hurt me, injure me, leave me bleeding to death but you cannot beat me. Even when I am dying, I don't give up. A basilisk's bite didn't stop me. Getting stabbed in the back with a trident didn't stop me. Two bouts of cruciatus didn't stop me. Did you think-"

"Mr Potter!"

Oh, man! I was getting to the best part.

I take a step back from the bound figures and turn to the shocked professor. "Yes, Professor McGonagall? How can I help you?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

I shrug. "You know, the usual. People attack me, I kick their asses. I was in the middle of a scary monologue when you cut me off so if you don't mind, I'd like to finish." I tilt my head to the side. "Oh, if you would tell Poppy in approximately fifteen minutes, my leg will stop working, possibly forever, that would be lovely."

"What?"

My shoulders sag as my vision darkens. "Please call Madam Pomfrey? This moron's," I point to Bill, "curse is trying to burn away the nerves on my left leg as we speak and it hurts something fierce."

She looks at where I'm pointing and her eyes widens when she sees the pain I wroth. Or maybe it is the two severed foot. Either way, her angry eyes when she turns her gaze back to me only adds to my pain. "What have you done, Mr Potter?" she asks, taking a step towards me in anger, her tone pinched.

"Back off, Professor," I answer, the world spinning and my tone just as tired as my mind.

"We have given you a lot of leeway with rules but if you think I'll allow you to attack other stud-"

"I said back off!" I yell, stumbling on my feet but remaining standing. "Do not presume to tell me what the rules are when I'm the _only_ reason this school is still standing! Do not think my respect for you, Aunt Minerva, gives you the right to assign me the blame when you have _no idea_ what happened!" This time when I stumble, I have neither the energy nor the presence of mind to fight gravity and I find myself sprawled on the dirty ground.

"Do not judge me before you know just what I saw," I mumble before letting the darkness envelop me.

 **\- Flowers for Your Grave -**

 **Chapter 2: Second Rate Performance**

 **February 26, 1995**

I broke yet another record. I've woken up in the hospital wing eighth time this semester and there are still four months, two challenges, a duelling tournament, the final task and a possible confrontation with Voldemort to go.

Albus offered to trade one of the private rooms of the wing with my current room. It would make the commute easier, he said.

I didn't laugh.

The curse Bill used on my leg turned out to be of Egyptian origin. Nasty stuff. It burns through your nerves, starting with the area it hit and spreading through the body until it reaches the brain at which point, you are long dead.

Poppy said while the suspension charm I used shouldn't be used on living organisms for a reason I don't remember, it saved my leg and potentially my life. Okay, that's a stretch, it would have taken hours for the curse to kill but still, it could have killed me.

Eventually.

Fleur was mad. Oh boy, she was mad, and between you and me, she looks hot when she's mad. First, it was mad because I made her wait until she learned what happened. Then, she was mad because I aggravated the situation when I could have walked away.

Her yelling turned into tears as her anger was spent and fear for my sake surfaced. Maybe telling her about Voldemort wasn't such a good idea.

I don't think I need to tell you last two days weren't fun as Poppy refused to allow me to leave the hospital bed, not even to visit the toilet. The same urination charm and a different variation of it to relieve me of the contents of my bowels were the name of the game and let me tell you, they are not pleasant.

At least, I got to spend quality time with my friends and mock Hermione about Viktor still following her around like a lost puppy. Ron's scowling was just an icing on the cake. Katie seemed a little low spirited, and that's not a good look on her but cheering her up has never been an issue and this time proved no different.

It isn't a fun morning either. I got used to waking up next to Fleur the last five days. No, I'm not being clingy. Compared to that, waking up to Poppy's nagging is awful.

And now, I'm on a carriage to the racing track the ministry built for this occasion. It was a surprise to hear as broom racing fell out of favour around mid-century.

The first thing I see as I walk into the tent is the beaming face of Gabrielle. She is rapid firing questions at her older sister as an older woman, who I assume is Mama Delacour, tries to rein in the little girl. Aimee is smiling at the excitable girl's excited talking.

I wink at Fleur as I stumble past the four blondes and find a comfortable seat to wait for the task to start. Britt is the only other champion in the tent with us and she's no conversationalist. So I close my eyes and go over my plan to see if there are any holes in it or any improvements I can make.

I come up empty which isn't surprising as Fleur perfected it over the last week based on what knowledge we have of the task; that it will involve riding a broom.

The organisers sure love their mysteries. Bastards.

This task will cost me, of that I have no doubt. The best I can hope for is to stay in the lead. Viktor will get the highest points in this task though Fleur may surprise everyone if her determination the last few days were any sign.

Either way, I am fourteen points ahead of closest competitor and I doubt Cedric can outperform Viktor on this one. I need thirty-five points and I hope I can get at least that much. It all depends on whether I can make my plan work.

"What are you doing?" Aimee asks, jolting me out of my reflection.

"Just thinking."

She sits next to me. "About?"

"How I can keep my lead."

"With your injuries?" The doubt in her voice hurts my ego a little but I survive.

"Viktor will probably win this round. As long as I score over thirty points, I will still be in the lead."

"You are right, I will win," I hear Viktor speak in broken English.

I smile at the reserved boy. "I will still win the tournament though."

He crosses his arms and gives me a 'we'll see' look.

"You are confident in your abilities, Mr Potter," I hear a cold feminine voice and turn to Fleur's mother.

I shrug nonchalantly. "I am and for a good reason too."

"Let's hope so. We wouldn't want a young boy like yourself to get hurt in this tournament." The sentence is a little insulting but what gets to me is the condescending tone she uses and the way it reminds me how Fleur behaved the morning after my birthday.

Fleur gives me a look before rolling her eyes. "Why people insist on calling me a 'boy'? Would it hurt you to call me a young man, instead of a young boy?" I complain childishly which doesn't impress the middle-aged beauty one bit.

Céline Delacour is a blonde with exquisite curves and a youthful skin that makes her seem in her mid-thirties. She looks to be an older, hazel-eyed version of Fleur except not as beautiful, though beautiful in her own right.

"Maybe because you are a fourteen-year-old boy," Aimee points out with a roll of her eyes.

"And yet, it was you who wanted to roll around in the snow for hours on end, not me. And it is me who has a fourteen point lead." I throw a cocky look at eldest Delacour woman. "I think everyone should be glad I am only fourteen. Can you imagine if I was seventeen?"

When Aimee sticks out her tongue, I answer with a similar show of tongue.

Mama Delacour must be unaccustomed to being ignored because she huffs indignantly and walks to the furthest corner of the tent.

"Someone is in trouble with the in-laws," Aimee sings as Fleur follows her mother with a thin set of lips and shaking shoulders.

"Meh. She'll get over it."

Any further conversation is cut short by a certain fat man. "Good, you are all here. Gather round."

He throws a mad glare at me when I don't move. "I am injured and my healer told me not to stand in ceremony for pompous arseholes with washed up fame. Please, just focus on your job."

My insult earns me few snorts and smiles, and a giggle from Gabrielle, though Fleur's mother gives no reaction other than her narrowed eyes.

Bagman clears her throat and continues as if no interruptions occurred, "your task today is to complete the track as fast as possible and steal a bag from a griffin. But there are various creatures you will have to get past before you can attempt that, including pixies, a runespoor, a river troll and one other surprise creature."

Merlin, what's with this tournament and surprises? Though if the last time Bagman mentioned a surprise creature, an ashwinder, is any sign, it won't be a dangerous creature. Especially considering we already have to deal with a runespoor, a troll and a griffin.

A runespoor is a three-headed snake that can grow as big as a basilisk but not as dangerous as they are slower creatures with no killing gazes and venom.

Troll won't be a problem at all as long as the champions can move fast.

Griffin. That could pose a problem. Griffins are proud creatures with vicious talons, lightning-fast reflexes and mild precognitive ability. There is a reason Godric choose a griffin as the animal of his house. Griffins are protectors of the forest, and they kill anyone who wanders into their territory with impure intentions.

I'd rather face a dragon than a griffin, to be honest. Dragons are scary and they breathe fire but griffins are incredibly smart and one of the fastest creatures in the air.

"You will go in order of your points, which means Mr Potter is first, followed by Mr Diggory and so on."

Yay. I'll get to watch my competition this time.

 **-HP-**

First thing I do as soon as I leave the tent is applying the needed charms on the Nimbus X I rescued from the lake and test it. I waste valuable ten minutes to get it done, and it still is nowhere near perfect. The back support I added will increase the air friction, preventing me from reaching the top speed even if I had no intention of doing that. The main problem I face is the broom's reaction time to the stick I charmed to control it.

Nimbus broom racing company has been losing market share steadily ever since the start of ninety-three when Firebolt hit the market. Nimbus X will be their answer to the new competition. It wasn't hard to convince Ron to try the X against my Firebolt, bless his soul, and the differences are few but substantial. Firebolt's top speed is a respectable hundred and fifty miles per hour while the X can reach up to two hundred. The Bolt takes ten seconds to reach the top speed while the X reaches two hundred in seven seconds.

There is one major advantage the Firebolt has over the X; handling and control. When you are flying on a Firebolt, the broom reacts to your every whim. It's almost like the broom can read your mind. The X has a good handling too, but its reaction time is slower and movements are a little jerkier in comparison, at least according to Ron.

The stick I add to the broom slows the reaction time even more. Honestly, I'd prefer doing this with a Nimbus 2000 as they are by far the most agile brooms ever made.

I will have to make do.

As soon as I am sure everything is ready to go, I mount the broom and take off. I have to say, the new seating arrangement is cosy compared to a broom right under my balls. No more half an hour of warm water, followed by an ice pack as an apology to the guys downstairs.

Cushioning charms, my arse.

In the last two tasks, the commentary for my performance was... different compared to the other champions. This time is no different. The fat man is confused and stupefied by my actions. According to him, I am ruining a perfect broom for no reason whatsoever and wasting time.

Dunderhead.

Oh, boy. I should stop channelling my inner Snape.

I fly at a comfortable speed as I will need a second for the broom to react to any sudden movements I need it to make. The track is twenty miles long and I encounter the first trouble at four miles mark: a mountain troll bigger and uglier than the one Ron and I killed in ninety-one.

A troll, no matter how big, shouldn't be a trouble for a wizard on a broom but the tournament planners acted smart on this one. I encounter the troll as I fly out of an arch that prevented me from seeing it. Just in time to avoid crashing into the troll, I stop the broom's forward motion and consider my options.

The troll has a range of ten feet and the rocky passage he stands in the middle of is twenty feet at most. I have to draw it towards me where there is more space to manoeuvre around it. That won't be too hard as the troll needs no encouragement to want to kill me. And if I move at the right time, the reaction time of the broom won't matter against a slow creature like a troll.

As the stupid creature makes his move towards me and swings his club, I transfigure his club to water. The troll's surprise at the loss of his weapon is the perfect opportunity, one which I take full advantage of. The troll is of no concern to me by the time he realises his prey is gone.

One problem solved, more to go.

Pixies. The second trouble I find myself in is a swarm of pixies waiting for me right after a narrow turn.

The way they used pixies is ingenious, especially the placement. They are not dangerous but can cause a lot of problems for the champions and the extremely tight space they are in makes them all the more effective.

I can just fly past them but there is no telling what damage the little devils can cause to my broom. Instead, I follow my bookish best friend's example and cast a strong freezing charm.

Who would have thought I learned something thanks to- or because of depending on how you look at it- Gilderoy Lockhart? Though, Hermione was the one to think of using the freezing charm on the pixies so she gets my gratitude.

I wait an extra second to ensure my charm worked on all the little devils before flying past them through the tight, rocky ravine.

The eight miles I flew past in ten minutes is not bad and that has me worrying what I will face as I rush through the widening ravine. If I spent just over ten minutes to get here, the other champions, especially Viktor, can do it in less than five.

That means I am fifteen minutes behind him which is abysmal.

I hate this; being crippled and weak. I hate feeling like a small kid in over his head; like how I felt when I faced the troll, Quirrell, the basilisk… like the sickening mirage of my future-self said...

Wait, where did that come from? I shake my head to clear it and slow the broom down. Something is not right. I may not be doing well on this task so far but I am not in over my head. On the contrary, I am doing great.

Not just in the tournament either. My life is going great considering everything that happened. I have a beautiful, sexy and smart girlfriend, a wonderful group of friends, two father figures cheering for me from the stands and a mentor who is there for me even though he is not allowed. My studies are going steady even without going to any classes. Even occlumency is going fine according to Albus and _Snape_. I recently made it to quarterfinals in an international duelling tournament even though I am only fourteen.

Yes, I am under a lot of stress this year but I am happy and content.

So why am I getting this sudden dread, like all the joy is gone from the-

Oh, shit.

I guess the surprise of this task is more dangerous than a simple ashwinder. They brought a _fucking_ dementor.

No problem. I faced down these fuckers before and lived, repeating that won't be a problem. Hell, it will be less of a problem than the troll I flew past thanks to the memories Fleur recently supplied me with.

I think through all the time I spent with Fleur and come up with the best memory: her apology by music. The resulting silvery Puck is my brightest one ever.

I turn the corner used to hide the dementor, speed up and fly past the shrieking dementor with a grin on my face. This is to my advantage. Patronus is a difficult charm, one not everyone can conjure and there are handful people who can do so as fast as I can.

There are two reasons for that: one, I am great at compartmentalising and manipulating my own emotions, and two, I worked damn hard on the patronus charm.

You would work hard not to hear your mother's death too.

I continue on my way before slowing down when I reach the entrance of a huge cage. The ceiling stands fifty feet over a river with wild current. There is no way this cave is without a dangerous creature in it. The question is which one comes first: the griffin or the runespoor.

I hope it's the griffin because if something goes wrong with it, this cave will be to my advantage as it would limit the movements of the large creature.

My hopes come true half a mile into the cave and I come across a large griffin with silvery feathers and brown, muscular legs, sitting in front of a backpack on a small sandy island.

The griffin regards me with caution but doesn't stand yet as I rack my brain for a plan. I can't dive and steal the backpack. Even without my injuries, escaping a griffin would be a challenge and I am not brave or stupid enough to attempt that.

No, I need to get to that pack without rising the noble creature's ire.

Newt Scamander and Hagrid both believe treating magical creatures with respect is the way to win their heart. I guess we'll see just how right they are.

I send a silent prayer to Buckbeak's immortal soul, may he rest in peace and land on the sand. With my broom in my hand, I stumble closer to the magnificent beast. The beast stands in response, a looming seven feet and rears back on its muscular back legs, proving his manliness before lets out a high-pitched shriek, a threat of a painful death. I stop at once and bow to the creature as much as I can without hurting my back, again.

I spend the next two minutes showing my respect for the creature and cursing the twins for reopening my back injuries as he prances over, sniffs me and judges me. Turns out, I am worthy because he nudges my hand, ordering me to... not pet, worship him with my hands. This isn't a mere animal you can pet.

After five minutes of paying the piper, the griffin nudges me on with a whine. I walk to the backpack and tie it to the back of the back support of my broom before taking off once again.

The cave snakes on for another mile before I get to the mouth of it and the runespoor blocking it.

Like I said, a runespoor can grow as big as a basilisk and this proves that. It reaches the fifty feet high ceiling of the cave without trouble with all three of its heads.

Who knew Parseltongue can be a useful talent to have? Well, that may not be the right word for it as my talent with the language allows me to hear the three heads of the creature discuss how to eat me, giving me new nightmare materials and a refreshed dislike of serpents.

Maybe if I ask nicely, they would let me pass?

No, Parseltongue is an 'evil' language and I don't want to remind people I can speak it.

What else?

Can I slip between its heads? Not a long shot. But can I risk it with my injuries? If there are more threats outside the cave, speeding past it may end up being the last thing I do.

What are the chances of that happening? If I calculated the distance correctly, the only thing outside the cave should be the finish line.

Decision made, I fly back to give me enough distance to reach high speed and do just that. I get away with a small graze from a tooth which is lucky considering I had no chance of dodging all the creature's heads.

Turns out, I was right. The finish line is a hundred yards from the exit of the cave.

I stop two hundred yards away from the finish line as the broom takes its sweet time to slow down.

"And there you have it, folks. Harry Potter finished the task in forty-seven minutes and without more than a scratch."

 **-HP-**

"You are fine."

"Are you sure? And here I was thinking I would die."

My sarcasm isn't well received by Poppy. "And here I expected you to want salve for your leg," she shoots back, giving a poke to the said leg.

I slap her hand and caress my leg. "Merlin, woman! You need to go back to wherever you learned to be a healer and take courses on bedside manners."

She shakes her head with a smile. "Bedside manner applies to patients who don't insist on creating unnecessary work for their healers. Stop being a baby."

I let her access to my leg to apply the salve. "You used to be nicer."

She massages my leg with the salve and my god; it feels so good. Not the massage, the salve. I'm not so far gone so far as to harbour naughty thoughts about a woman who worked at Hogwarts while my mother was a student here. No, sir. Never.

The fact that she's a nurse does not change my teenage mind when it needs to conjure images for a dream of sweat and ecstasy.

"You used to be a cute boy."

I huff at her with a pout. "So, you show your real face. I get older and put on a few pounds, and suddenly, you don't like me anymore."

For all Poppy's stern attitude and angry rants, she has a superb sense of humour, or maybe she got used to my humour and goes along with it. "You are just too old for me, sweety."

I stifle my laughter. "I wouldn't repeat it in front of anyone else or people will wonder if it's a good idea to let you work in a school full of children."

"We wouldn't want that," she agrees with a nod.

"Merlin forbid! St. Mungo's may send a kind healer. What would that be like?"

She stops massaging and stands with a wistful smile I hope is a fake. "You can leave now."

I hop off the bed and land on my face. "Shit. Without the pain, I forgot my leg isn't working." Her laughing makes things even worse. "This didn't happen so we won't be telling anyone about it."

"Oh, Minerva will love this."

I lean on my staff and stand. "At least make sure the student population doesn't hear about it. I have a reputation to uphold."

"What reputation?"

"I don't know. I don't listen to the rumours about me because I don't care about people's opinions." My careless shrug adds to my point.

"That makes little to no sense, Harry."

I limp away to the exit of the tent. "Exactly."

"What?"

"Who?"

"..."

As soon as I walk out of the tent, I walk into a black man in auror robes.

"Sorry," I say as he helps me up from where I lay sprawled over once again.

I give him a once over. He looks familiar. "Don't worry about it."

"You look familiar. Where do I remember you from?"

He grins and reminds me, "you barged into a meeting between the Headmaster, the minister and the head of DLME last year."

Oh, right. That. "Not my best moment, interrupting a meeting."

He slaps me in the shoulder while laughing. "You impressed everyone in the room, especially Madam Bones." He leans in, almost bending over as he's at least a foot taller than me. "Between you and me, the boss hopes to recruit you after your actions last summer and your performance in Spain."

Shacklebolt. That was his name. He's close with Dumbledore and was a member of Order of the Phoenix. "Well, if she plans to retire, I'm sure she can find another candidate to take her spot," I say with a cocky grin and a shrug, earning a booming laughter from the personable man.

"Anyway, I'm here for a reason. The minister wants to talk to you in the stands, and be warned, Rita Skeeter is with him."

"Sure, lead the way, and don't worry about Rita. I know how to handle her."

He gives me an odd glance but doesn't comment as we continue our way. If Bagman's commentary is accurate, Cedric is about to face the dementor and he is nearing ten minutes mark. He has only ten minutes on me which is encouraging as he's yet to face the more challenging part of the task.

"Diggory turns the corner before the dementor without even stopping and barely able to slow his broom to avoid crashing into the dementor. Let's see if his patronus is up to the task."

Turns out, Diggory knows how to cast a patronus though he wastes five minutes conjuring one which means he has only six minutes' advantage on me.

Good.

"Harry, come, sit," the minister's voice booms as soon as I arrive at the minister's box with my escort in tow.

"It is good to see you, Minister. Auror Shacklebolt tells me you want to speak with me?"

His amicable smile seems a little predatory with the hungry look in his eyes. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you. I wanted to see if you are doing well after everything you've been through last month."

"Unfortunate series of incidents but I assure you I will be good as new in two or three days. Rita, lovely to see you as always," I say kissing Rita's hand before sitting at the seat the minister points me to. "You weren't able to interview me after the last task so we should remedy it."

Her eyes narrow but no unpleasantness show on her face. "I tried to get in for an interview but Dumbledore was persistent in his desire to shield you from me."

"I'm afraid I agree with him on the decision he made. It was a stressful month all around and with the mood, I was in, you would find me untalkative at best, replaced by an irritating arsehole at worst."

I glance around the stand we are on and see Fleur's mother, Gabriel and the judges are here. Albus sees me looking and winks while Fleur's mother tries to act like I'm not there and she's not listening in.

Rita's customary hunger for scandal appears on her face as she asks, "what happened exactly? Wild rumours reached my ears, each more absurd than the other and I'm not sure what to believe."

"Well, I'm sure you saw what happened with the siren." She nods when I take a moment to glance at Albus to see him nod his consent. "Three weeks after that, right after my back healed enough so I could walk without a staff, a man impersonating Mad-Eye Moody attacked me and held me under cruciatus. The pain was becoming too much to handle so I couldn't wait for help to arrive. I acted without a plan and the imposter died."

"Do you have any idea who the imposter was?"

"I have my suspicions but, as you probably know, when someone dies while polyjuiced, they don't revert to their original body so I can't say with certainty."

The lift of her eyebrow tells me she reads the underlying message, but she lets go. "And what about what happened yesterday? Multiple sources claim you were in a fight which quickly got out of control."

I can see the minister is getting agitated with the direction this interview is going so I change the subject. "It was a misunderstanding which got out of hand in the heat of the moment, nothing more. Rita, I'd rather we speak of pleasant subjects. Minister, I hear you played a big role in the decision to bring broom racing back to Britain."

Rita glares at me while Fudge smiles enthusiastically. "Yes, I always thought it was a shame broom racing fell out of favour in Britain. I used to love watching the races when I was a kid. I thought it would be a shame to let this wonderful track we built go to waste when we can reintroduce racing to Britain with it."

"Yes, it's a shame magical world offers so little in the way of sports and entertainment."

As we talk, Cedric finishes the task, though I miss all of it. According to Bagman's commentary, he finished the task in thirty-eight minutes.

Rita looks at me with hopeful eyes, begging for a newsworthy material. "What do you mean by that, Harry?"

"Muggles have this sport called football. Nothing special, a bunch of guys kicking a ball in the grass. What's special is the competitions, the rivalry. They don't have just the national league. They have these bigger tournaments where the best teams of every national league in Europe play against each other to determine the best team in all of Europe. And they have similar tournaments for every sport, not just football. There is basketball, tennis, rugby and many more branches of sports, each reaching to a different audience. I can't help consider us, wizards, lacking in that respect."

"Do you think we should adopt a similar approach?" Fudge asks, his tone conveying his doubt of the idea.

"Why not? It would help the economy, increase the competitiveness in the Quidditch world and give people more of the sport they love. Not the mention I'm sure the players would love the chance to compete against a wider variety of teams."

Bagman's voice cuts us off before we can discuss it any further, "next up, we have the Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, the favourite on this task."

My body language must make it clear I want to watch his performance because neither Rita nor Fudge says anything for the next half an hour. We watch Krum blow through the track in a show of excellent flying skills. The dementor and the griffin slowed him down just enough so I don't expect to lose my lead on the tournament. He falters and loses eight minutes against the dementor and flies past it when he fails to produce a patronus. The dementor tries to follow but is stopped by an enchantment. The surly boy wastes another ten valuable minutes against the griffin, trying to draw it away from the backpack. Not a tactical genius but his flying skills pay off as he finishes in twenty-eight minutes. He doesn't even get bloody.

"What do you think of your rival's performance, Harry?"

"He did good, as I expected of a Quidditch star of his calibre. I can't say I would've done better if I was in good health. But it seems like I will keep my lead."

"And Cedric?" she asks, hoping for something more.

"Well, he will get more points than me but other than that, I can't say anything as I didn't catch his performance."

Her shoulders slump. "You are no fun today."

I ignore her and focus my attention on the minister. He sent an auror so he can talk with me, ignoring him would be rude. "Minister, I was wondering, did Hermione, the girl I introduced you to this summer, get in touch with you about the internship you offered? She won't tell me anything."

That's a lie, I'm aware Hermione hasn't written to the man yet. She's afraid of getting rejected, afraid Fudge only offered the internship because I was there.

He perks up as he shakes his head. "No, I have received no owls from her. It's a shame too, I was looking forward to showing the ropes to the 'future Minister of Magic' as you praised her."

"I'll remind her to send you an owl then. We can't let talents such as hers go to waste."

"Who is Hermione?" Rita cuts in, smelling the news.

"Remember the girl I was walking with after the first task? She's a good friend, and one of the smartest people I know."

She lifts an eyebrow and gives me a sweet smile from where she's sitting on the other side of Fudge. "Are you sure that's the whole story? Wasn't she the girl you saved from the troll in your first year?"

"Yes, and yes. She's one of my best friends but there is nothing romantic between us so don't go inventing stories."

"So you insist on giving me nothing? Not even a schoolgirl crush?"

I shrug with no sympathy.

"Our next champion is Aimee Beaufort," Bagman announces and we turn our attention to where Aimee is preparing to take off.

Her performance is the opposite of the Krum's. While he focused on his speed, Aimee plays it smart and safe. She distracts the troll with colourful spells, freezes the Pixies as I did, produces a patronus after suffering the effects of the creature for a few minutes. The blonde conjures an animal for the griffin to hunt as another distraction and somehow ties two of the runespoor's heads together. Her time is not as good as the other two champions though. She finishes the task in forty minutes.

"Any comments on miss Beaufort's performance?"

"She played it smart and came up with good plans on the spot but her time suffered because of it."

She smiles, shakes her head and says, "I don't know why I asked, I wasn't hopeful."

I smile back at the woman, trying to make my eye twinkle and failing. "Not even I can make the headlines all the time, my dear."

She sighs before brightening up after a glance at the man holding the highest seat of the magical government. "Okay, how about you give me a quote on what your opinions are on Minister Fudge's administration?"

Said minister seems unsure on how he should feel. He gulps while beaming at me, a unique and ridiculous combination.

"Sure but remember, I know nothing about politics and I have seen no other administration. Any comment I make will be a young man's inexperienced ramblings." She reluctantly nods her acceptance. "The ministry under his leadership made mistakes but considering they inherited an unstable country that was still trying to heal after a civil war, that was expected. Magical Britain still has a long way to go to reach normalcy. I think Cornelius Fudge can lead us there if he listens to _wise_ counsel and fights the injustices that poison our society."

"Who do you mean by wise counsel and what changes would you suggest he make?"

"Who? Albus Dumbledore is the foremost name to consider. I mean he is a century old man who fought in two wars and apprenticed under the oldest man alive. I don't know Madam Bones well but from what I've seen and heard of her, listening to her advice would make sense. Especially from law and order standpoint."

"What changes I would suggest? Fewer laws preventing werewolves from having a normal life instead of pushing them to the fringes of society. More investments in education and entertainment. That's all I can come up with at the moment. As I said, I am a fourteen-year-old boy. It would be smarter to listen to the suggestions from Dumbledore, Madam Bones and people of similar experiences and broader perspectives."

"I understand why you would support an increased budget for education but werewolves?" she asks, going for the headline material right away.

"I understand the general fear and distrust surrounding the werewolves but the fact of the matter is, they are regular people. We shouldn't ostracise them and prevent them from working to their full potential and having a real life. We should encourage the use of wolfsbane potion by selling it at a loss and invest in research so we can exterminate the disease one day in the future."

Fudge cuts in before Rita can ask another question, "what about the cost? Wolfsbane potion isn't cheap and if we were to implement your suggestions, we would be asking the public to pay for it."

"But you would also bring the victims of the disease back into the workforce. An average worker pays a hundred galleons a year on taxes. If the werewolves are able to work again, the ministry's revenue from the taxes will increase, the added workforce will help revitalise the economy. The investment you make for the werewolves will pay for itself. Not to mention it will decrease the number of werewolf attacks thanks to the potion, helping the constituents feel safer."

Fudge nods but still seems unsure while Rita scribbles on her parchment without a pause. I'm surprised she's not using a quick-quotes quill. She's learning, I guess.

"I think it would be a good project for Hermione to work on. She can calculate the cost, research what the advantages and disadvantages would be, interview a sample group to determine how both the public and the afflicted would react and search for volunteers even."

"It wouldn't hurt to look into it, I suppose."

I smile at the short man. "You can even make me the public face of the legislation if you go through with a similar legislation."

"Our next champion, Fleur Delacour enters the track." Bagman's announcement draws my attention and I turn away from the minister to watch my girlfriend.

Fleur is amazing. No, I'm not saying that just because she's gorgeous and I might be in love with her. It is the truth. She is something else out there and the determined look on her face only adds to her aura of shagtastic beauty.

The way she stuns the troll by one stunner to the creature's left eye without even slowing down is scary. What an aim!

The way she conjures one hell of a wind to throw the pixies out of her way is impressive.

The way she doesn't even glance at the dementor before casting a patronus at point blank range is shocking and quite a bit painful to the foul creature.

The only time she falters is against the griffin but she comes up with a plan quickly enough. That plan involves angering the noble beast into following her, stealing the bag and flying past the runespoor as she conjures a thick smoke to blind both creatures. Two creatures fight each other as she passes the finish line with her head held high, fighting a grin.

She finishes the task in twenty-eight minutes, and I'm not sure I could have performed better if I was in perfect health. She was something else out there. I guess her mother's attendance and her poor performance in the previous task pushed her to prove herself.

"Anything I can use, Harry?"

I smile at Rita as I respond, "what? All the talks of politics and my support for werewolf rights weren't enough?" I wait for a beat but she doesn't answer. "Well, Fleur's time is the same as Viktor's and she performed the best so far. She should get the highest scores but we both recognise that will not happen because of Karkaroff's blatant bias."

She smiles while writing what I said before glancing up at me again. "Give me your predictions on today's rankings."

"Well, like I said, Fleur should get the highest score but that will not happen. I think the ranking will be Krum, Fleur, Aimee, Cedric. I will get the lowest score. No comment on Britt as I haven't seen how she is on a broom."

"Thank you, Harry."

"My pleasure, Rita. Minister, I should return to the tent. After Britt finishes the task, the points will be announced."

"Go ahead, my boy. Enjoy the rest of your day."

 **-HP-**

My guess at the third task ranks turns out to be spot on. Viktor receives forty-five points, one point more than Fleur while Cedric and I each get one point less than Aimee and Britt with thirty-seven points. When you consider my injuries and the ten minutes I spent on my broom before even starting the task, thirty-seven points is a damn good score. So sharing the last place doesn't feel all that bad.

I turn out to be right about Karkaroff too. The fucker gives me a four, Fleur a five. Cedric and Aimee both get six while Britt gets a ten. A fucking ten. I won't even mention what Viktor receives.

The bastard would give Viktor eleven points if he could.

It doesn't matter. I am still in the lead with 131 points while Viktor is second with 122 points. Fleur trails us with her 120, followed by Cedric's 118 and Aimee's 112. Britt brings up the rear with 109 points.

The only surprise so far in the standings is Fleur but I have a feeling she will bounce back.

The backpack the griffin let me take had a thick book and some potion ingredients which is troubling considering how awful I am at the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I am much better at foolish wand-waving and silly incantations.

I walk back into the tent with only food in mind because the sun is setting yet breakfast was the last meal I had. I can normally skip lunch without becoming a Ron but because of my poor diet for the past month, I have been eating twice as much to regain my muscle mass and my body enjoys the new attention.

Fleur has another thing in mind as she stops me with a hand on my arm. We stand there, waiting in silence for the other champions to leave. "When I said I couldn't wait for you to antagonise my mother, I was joking," she says as soon as our fellow students leave.

The anger in her tone surprises me and sparks a similar response in me, "it is a two-way street, Fleur. I show respect to those who show me respect."

She lets out a breath, nods and closes the distance between us to hug me. "I'm sorry. Mother was being… herself and driving me up the wall."

I don't answer as I wrap my hands around her shoulders and breathe in her flowery aroma mixed with sweat from the task. It is odd she can smell so good still but I can't complain. Little by little, the tension leaves her body and a few minutes later, her body leaves mine.

"So, what did she do?" I ask, not discouraged by the emptiness her absence leaves.0

Fleur sighs, her one hand rubbing the other. "Gabrielle must have let slip I went on a few dates with Bill. _She_ invited him to dinner just to spite you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Fleur breathes out with a shrug. "She wouldn't give me a chance to explain, not that I think explaining would make a difference with her."

"We can cancel the dinner," I offer. I don't want to miss out on what will surely be a fun night but I'd prefer a happy Fleur to a tense one.

Yes, I'm thoughtful like that. Please, form a line, ladies, no need to cause a ruckus.

She shakes her head, causing her hair to fly around wildly but somehow when she stops, her hair still immaculate, like she spent hours working on it. Must be a veela thing. "No way. We have a bet, mister. You are not getting out of it so easily."

The soft but mischievous smile on my lips is inevitable as I step forward. "Why is it you are so eager to lose our bet, dear flower?" I whisper as my arms snake around her, pulling her flush against me, my eyes refusing to leave hers.

She doesn't answer, closing the distance between our mouths and giving me a deep kiss instead.

Being with Fleur is empowering, and not because she's gorgeous. Yes, we have had our share of drama and we hurt each other but making her smile is an experience, exhilarating unlike anything. The way she relaxes in my embrace and smiles against my lips when my fingers graze by her ticklish stomach makes me feel like I can do anything.

And after her performance on the track today, I'm beginning to think together, we can truly do anything.

I guess time will tell just how much we can accomplish and whether we can last.

Our moment is broken by Aimee's return to the tent though we fail to notice her presence until she clears her throat loudly. "I don't know if you are aware but half a dozen people are waiting for you so we could eat and I'm far too hungry to be amused by your antics."

Fleur and I turn to the girl at the same time and break out into laughter at the cute blonde's pinched expression at the same time. She looks so cute. Her annoyance turns into a glare as she stomps her feet and huffs before storming out, making us laugh harder even as we follow her.

My girlfriend- and no, I don't think I will get tired of saying that anytime soon- squeezes my hand when her mother comes into view, Sirius giving me a large smile behind the irritated blonde's back while Remus pokes him in the back. "Calm down, folks, for I have arrived," I announce in a Lockhart like voice though no one recognises the pompous man's imitation.

"And just why are you here?" Céline Delacour asks, her tone making it clear she's not amused.

I do my best to give her a sweet smile, no doubt failing. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I thought I had dinner planned with my girlfriend's mother."

Her nose wrinkle as she lifts her nose at me, giving me a look one would give a smelly common criminal. "I have little patience or time to waste correcting upstarts." She glares at the union between Fleur and my hands. "Let's go, Fleur. Your boyfriend went ahead to get us a table at the restaurant."

I keep my face blank- and let me tell you; it takes effort not to laugh- and turn to Fleur with a raised eyebrow. "Hunger must have gone to my head. I didn't know I was already at the restaurant. But if I'm already at the restaurant and you are right next to me… Well, this is confusing." I turn back to the Fleur's mother with a faux-glare. "Shame on you for trying to confuse me."

She stays still for a moment in surprise before her glare intensifies. "You must be mistaken, _boy,_ " she hisses, her eyes narrowed and lips pinched. "My daughter's- how do you English say it- date is waiting for us at the restaurant."

"Date is close enough word for what you are trying to say but so far from the truth, it is funnier than a Monty Python sketch," I answer, with a smile on my face to prove just how proud I am of her. "I applaud you for the effort though."

"What's a Monty Python?" Gabrielle asks, finally coming out of her hiding place behind her mother's legs.

"They are a British absurd comedy group and arguably the best thing to come out of these lands. It's a tie between them, Merlin and me."

She gives me a nod accompanied by a shy smile while Sirius and Remus are laughing their lungs out without making a sound somehow. Must be a silencing charm.

Aimee's irritation is going up each moment as she caresses her stomach despondently. Samantha, on the other hand, is well fed and all of her efforts goes into keeping herself from joining my two heterosexual fathers.

No one says anything after my explanation and the silence stretches on. I can tell Céline Delacour is waiting for me to give up and leave but all she gets is my amused smile as seconds become minutes.

My stomach rebels at my calm exterior with an embarrassing grumble which brings a condescending smile to the condescending face of the condescending woman.

Did I mention how condescending Fleur's mother is? I can't stress enough how condescending the bitch is.

It is Gabrielle who ends our staring contest with a whine. "Mama, can we have dinner now? I'm hungry."

Mrs Delacour's nostrils flare for a moment but she accepts her defeat with grace. "Fine, but if you want the boy to come, you will have to bring him along with you."

"Though I wouldn't say no to Fleur holding me, I can find my way there myself."

"And how will you do that?"

"There is this form of travel us, wizards, like to use called 'apparating'. You focus for a second and a moment later, you are there. It's like magic."

The woman huffs and takes a hold of Gabrielle's arm in a tight grip before turning on the spot, dragging the girl around.

As soon as she leaves, Samantha lets lose the laughter she's been holding since the start of the constipated conversation. "That was awesome."

Sirius and Remus drop the silencing charm and applaud; Sirius looking especially proud.

I give them a small bow. "Thank you. I live for your amusement."

Fleur groans with her free hand on her face. "I'm starting to regret this idea."

I shrug, my hand finding her cheek, drawing her eyes to mine. "Fleur, I tried. I ignored her insults. Even my sarcastic responses were tasteful and measured."

"I know. She's just..."

"A condescending bitch with a far too high opinion of herself?"

"It's my mother you are talking about."

"I know. I was describing your mother."

"What?"

Dammit, why people react this way to my perfect sense of humour? 'What' is the response I get the second most when I make a joke. More often than not, all I receive is an awkward and confused silence.

People have no appreciation of comedy.

"We can cancel the dinner date," I offer a second time with a sigh.

She leans in and rests her head on my shoulder, her arms around my shoulder, holding me close. "No, I just don't want to fight with her when you inevitably irritate her enough to get me involved."

I rest my cheek on top of her head. "Well, maybe if you offered me a good enough incentive, I could keep my tongue."

She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking back to the first night back, when I had the bright idea of combining dancing with undressing."

She smiles cutely. "Promise not to call my mother a bitch again and we have a deal."

"I promise not to call your mother a bitch... in front of you."

"Good enough, I suppose."

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 3: How to Make Friends**

 **February 26, 1995**

"So, Bill, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?" Mother asks in a courteous tone I've heard her use only to important people like my father's superiors in the government. She really must dislike Harry to lay it on so thick with Bill.

She'll be disappointed.

We are sitting in a cute little French restaurant inside a small wooded area enchanted against Muggles, waiting for our food. I am not hopeful about the quality of food but it has more to do with the country we are in than this restaurant.

Englishmen have no taste in food.

"I am a curse-breaker, madam," Bill answers and from the looks of things, he enjoys the attention, "I work for Gringotts."

"What does a curse-breaker working for Gringotts do?"

"Until last summer, we were working on tombs and pyramids in Egypt, breaking down the highly dangerous curses and protective enchantments step by step. It is hard work and a single mistake could spell death but it is fun."

That was the exact explanation Bill gave me when we first met. He and a small army of curse-breakers were in Hogwarts to raise protections around and in the lake. Apparently, with the demands of this tournament and several other demanding projects, Gringotts higher-ups asked for additional help from their counterparts in Egypt.

"That sounds exciting." Mother gives me a look that demands obedience as she tries to draw me into the conversation, "doesn't it, Fleur?"

"It does," I agree with no enthusiasm.

Harry shakes his head at me and takes my hand from where he's sitting in the next seat. "Come now, Fleur. It sounds thrilling, standing in the middle of a rich culture and history, steps away from knowledge which has been lost for centuries. Egypt was and is the land of scholars and powerful magic. Can you imagine what secrets those pyramids hide and what it feels like to be there, on the ground zero of a potentially world-changing knowledge?" There is nothing but sincerity and awe in Harry's voice, and I can't help but find it attractive.

And not only because he can say that with honesty even in this ridiculous situation where honesty inflates Bill's ego. The most attractive character trait he shows is the same as always; the wonder in his eyes and voice when he speaks about a subject he's passionate in.

My lips curled up in a smile at his enthusiasm, I open my mouth to answer but am cut off by Sirius. "Nerd!" Everyone at the table turns towards the grinning man at once and stare. "What?" he asks with an unabashed shrug.

Remus, in a manner that speaks of not only exasperation but regularity, slaps the back of Sirius' head, earning a yelp from the man. "Bad, Sirius! We do not call young scholars nerds."

"But…"

"No," Remus cuts off, shaking his finger threateningly. "Don't make me tell Anita."

Harry's hand leaves mine as he leans forward on the table, his eyes boring into his godfather's. "Oh? And just who is this _Anita_?"

Sirius' eyes look around frantically, presumably searching for a distraction or an escape route. "She's- ah- Well, you see…"

A snort escapes me before I can hold myself back at the man's nervousness and I feel Mother's glare at my unladylike behaviour but ignoring her is something I'm experienced with.

"Aw! Did my godfather find himself an itsy-bitsy girlfriend?" Harry mocks in a sickening sugar sweet tone, following his words with exaggerated kissing noises.

"Hey! Anita isn't itsy-bitsy," Sirius complains with an offended glare.

Harry gives Remus a questioning look as Sirius returns to his nervousness. "She's actually a nice, mature woman. I have no idea how he pulled it off but Sirius found himself a real lady friend," he informs the young boy.

Mother, having had enough of staying outside the spotlight, speaks again before the conversation can continue, her target once again Bill. "Tell me, William, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five, madam," the redhead answers, his tone perfectly polite though he commits a faux pas as he doesn't glance away from me even when he speaks to Mother.

"That's a very respectable age," Mother compliments as she herself commits the same faux pas, trying and failing to be subtle.

I've spent four days with Sirius and Remus in Spain and while I can't say I know either men well, I picked up on enough of their character traits to not be surprised when Sirius leans next to him and stage whispers to Aimee, "Let's make sure Mrs Delacour doesn't meet Albus. I think none of us are ready for _that_ romance."

For a moment, no one speaks as we try to make sense of the word and it is Harry who breaks the momentary silence with a giggle. "If twenty-five is a respectable age, what would you call 114, is what he's trying to say," he explains when I look at him questioningly.

Mother's ire raises to new heights as she glares at Harry who raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not saying that. _He_ is," he says, throwing his godfather under the bus with a pointed finger.

"Judas," Sirius whispers harshly, a faux-frown on his face.

"Yes, well… You are a poopy-head," Harry declares vehemently, shaking a finger at Sirius across the table.

The absurdity of the conversation, combined with the tension of the night, breaks through Aimee and Samantha who let out crackling peals of laughter at Mother's reddened face, hiding their own faces behind their hands as Mother glares at everyone at the table except Gabrielle and Bill.

Gabrielle, bless her soul, sits silently and drinks her juice as she watches Harry with stars in her wide eyes. With her very limited understanding of English, she has little hopes of joining the conversation even if she could keep up with the subjects though none of that dampens her mood.

I can't say how grateful I am, for the first time, for our age difference. Just imagining the potential cat fight between us if she was closer in age to Harry makes me shiver. I don't think I could be with Harry if that were the case.

"Really, Fleur? _This,_ " Mother spat nodding her head towards Harry, her eyes not leaving me. "Is your choice in a companion? An uncouth little upstart with no respect for his betters and no sense of propriety? I am disappointed."

I glance briefly at my chosen companion before looking back at Mother, feeling every eye on the table on me, waiting for my reaction. Everyone except Harry. He squeezes my hand, offering silent support that's worth more than I am brave enough to admit. In the end, my answer is preordained. I lean forward on my seat, taking a sip of my wine before swirling it around in the glass, allowing the circular motions to calm me. "Your disappointment is nothing new, Mother. I was born to be a target for your dissatisfaction."

She sighs as her face drops, her countenance speaks of sadness yet I don't buy it for a moment. Not when the coldness in her eyes betrays to her thoughts. "I only want what's best for you, Daughter. I always have. I don't understand your adamant need to see me as your enemy."

The table is silent and there is no sign of the previous, albeit forced, merriment and laughter. For all their frivolity, even Sirius and Remus understand the weight of the moment and act accordingly, surprising me if I'm being honest.

The large sip of wine and the circles Harry's finger draws on my palm are the only things allowing me to stay calm. "Then you have a skewed view of our history. It wasn't with my best interest in mind that you pressured me into dating that lout pig, Alphonse. It wasn't with my best interest in mind that you wrote a fake letter in my name to Henry, breaking apart our relationship."

Mother waves a dismissive hand at my words. "If your relationship with that boy was strong enough, it wouldn't have ended so easily. And Alphonse was a handsome boy of good breeding. A union with him would have served you well. Your insistent need to defy me was the only reason he's married to that tramp instead of you right now."

"Alphonse is a sexist pig who attempted potion me into bedding him when I was thirteen!" I snarl, the memories of the nightmarish night returning with a vengeance to my alcohol-addled mind.

Another dismissive gesture from the _bitch_ has me seeing red but the real blow comes from her words. "Surely, you are overreacting. He may have gotten a little overzealous with his youthful attempts at a seduction, nothing more."

I expected many things from her. With her, disappointment and belittlement is the order of the day, all day every day. But this…

It is eye-opening and suddenly, the last shred of respect I had for her, the tiny hope of fixing our relationship is gone. And contrary to what I would have thought, it is liberalising more than depressing. With no emotional attachment to her left, I do not need to worry about her words or opinions anymore.

I am free.

So when I shrug, it is truly an uncaring gesture. "Think what you wish. It will not change reality and I am tired of your letting delusions dictate my life." Wine is truly a blessing and I don't care what Harry says, it is important.

Her nostrils flare as eyes narrow into slits, her face red with anger. "I see your time with these uncultured primates has emboldened you into forgetting your place. A slight, I shall correct."

I open my mouth but Harry's voice rings in the air before I can make any sound, his tone a faux-offended one. "Oi! Who told her about The Drunken Monkey?"

For a long moment, everyone stares at Harry incredulously, including me though I have to admit, I am thankful for the intermission into the destruction of my relationship with Mother. It is Gabrielle, bless her soul, who breaks the silence. "What's a drunken monkey?" she asks, her face scrunched up in innocent curiosity as she stares up at Harry with unhidden awe.

"It's one of my secret superpowers," Harry stage whispers as he leans forward and looks at my little sister with a far too serious face.

"Oh."

"I can teach you," Harry offers, unaware of just how big a mistake it is and if the eager smile on Gabrielle's face is any sign, I may have just lost any alone time with my boyfriend for the foreseeable future.

Before the littlest blonde of the table can answer, the oldest one cuts in with her opinion on the matter. "You will do no such a thing, boy. You do not have my permission to date, nor go anywhere near either of my daughters."

Harry calmly takes a sip of his wine before beaming at my mother. "Then I guess it's a good thing I wasn't asking for permission."

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Mother asks, straightening in her chair in an attempt at intimidation.

"Fleur's mother," Harry deadpans with no sign of his previous, albeit false, calmness. When Mothers makes to speak, he cuts her off. "That's the most you'll ever be. You could be the empress of the world and that would still be your second most important title."

He shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows at the table and looking at Mother's eyes with contempt dripping from his visage. "Sadly, I was orphaned at such an early age that the only memory of my mother I have is of her death. And believe me, I would do anything, _anything_ for a chance to meet her. But watching you with your daughters tonight and listening to the garbage you spew… God forgive me, but I'd prefer having only stories of my mother to being your child."

Ouch. And wow.

That's the third time I watched Harry deliver a verbal smack down and am I glad not to be at the receiving end. I know no one else who can be as hurtful as him when he wants to be.

I should be offended and angry at him for attacking Mother like that but for the life of me, I can't find it in me to get mad at the boy I love for attacking the woman who clearly doesn't. Mother seems to disagree as her eyes find my wide ones. "Are you going to allow this insignificant little boy to insult your mother like that?"

I take a sip of wine and smile coldly at my mother over my glass. "He's trying to defend me against the woman who prefers to defend my would-be rapist. I'm not inclined to get mad at him for that."

Mother gives me a long and hard look before standing up suddenly, her chair flying backwards. "You are no daughter of mine then," she snarls before whipping around and leaving the table with long strides.

As soon as she leaves, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the part of my mind that informs me Mother forgot her youngest daughter at the table, proving just how little I lost tonight except for my hopeless hope. As much as I wish otherwise, tears slip from the corners of my eyes and when I feel Harry's arms around my shoulders, drawing me into his body, I let them go completely.

A part of me holds him responsible for my irreparably broken relationship with... _her_ but I am not surprised my reaction is gratitude.

Sometime later, as I hide from the world in my lover's arms, my tears spent yet I am still disinclined to face the world, I hear three words that do what I would have thought impossible; make me laugh. It is Bill who speaks, his tone awkward and unsure.

"I should go."

 **-FD-**

 **March 4, 1995**

Something has been different between Harry and me. Even though we have been spending less time together this past week because of my sister's presence; when we are together, things are… content and blissful. We reached an unspoken understanding between us, I guess.

He's more at ease around me, more carefree and I get to see more of him without the air of infallibility he likes to wear. And I smile more often, even without his presence and in public. The bastard turned me into a semi-pleasant person to be around.

It's unbearable.

I think my fight with Mother solidified our relationship for both of us. Trust comes easier and I can't help get excited about this new form our relationship took.

So, this past week has been great, except I couldn't spend as much time with him as I'd have liked. It's not that I regret having my sister with me. The problem is, I can't stay here after the tournament ends and I will miss him when he returns to school without me.

By D'Arc, he has me worrying about things months in advance. This is getting ridiculous, and if I start drawing hearts on my books, please, do me a favour and smack me across the face as hard as you can.

Gabrielle is with Aimee, visiting Hagrid and his creatures so I make my way to Harry's spot by the lake to see my boyfriend and maybe get in make out or two while I have the chance.

I really do sound like a schoolgirl with a crush, don't I? I guess I'll have to face the facts. I am not as emotionally mature as I want to portray, and I can't say I am broken about it.

Another funny thing happened four days ago. Madame Maxime called me into her office for a talk. Apparently, my concerned mother felt that certain champion may be a bad influence on me and my performance in the tournament could suffer. The headmistress interrogated me on my relationship with Harry long and hard before relenting and confessing she knew for a while now.

I love Madame Maxime. She is like a mentor-figure, and not because she's the Headmistress. It's because she's a half-giant who overcame the bigotry she had to face and maintained her dignity and principles throughout her life. It is admirable and something I want to accomplish. An admirable goal if there was ever one.

She may have a soft spot for me too because if she knew my relationship with Harry, she let me get away with sleeping in his room instead of staying with my schoolmates. And there is no room to doubt she knew because, as it turns out, she knows everything I did since coming to Hogwarts.

It's sweet, her worry over my wellbeing. She's well aware of the trouble I could get in because of a few overzealous and arrogant idiots, and while I'm always on guard for such things, the knowledge of her protection gives me a warm feeling and makes me feel all the safer.

Is it strange she worries about me more than Mother ever did?

The best part of my conversation with Madame Maxime was the cold satisfaction of knowing Mother's attempt at undermining my relationship worked only to solidify it when Maxime gave me her blessing. I wish she were in the room so I could laugh at her face.

I reach the small alcove and see my boyfriend, leaning against a tree and drawing with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. I stand silently for a minute and just enjoy the scene.

Harry is not the most handsome boy, especially compared to the likes of Cedric Diggory, but he exudes an aura that makes his presence felt. His face has faint laughter lines intermixed with frown lines and on such a young face, they add levity to him his smile contradicts. Not the most aesthetically pleasing face but a handsome one nonetheless, and combined with the ease with which he handles most situations and his presence, he makes for an attractive figure.

So, if I were a vain girl, I couldn't say I was settling by dating him.

"Hello, there. What's a handsome boy like yourself doing here, all by your lone self?"

Harry looks up from the drawing he's working on and gives me a blank look. "I think you meant man. Handsome man." His delicious looking lips curl up in a smile when he adds, "and what I'm doing is, I'm missing my girlfriend."

Aw. "I'm sure she misses you too."

"Who wouldn't?" He pulls me down in his lap and gives me a long kiss before we lose our balance and roll on the ground. We spend the next half an hour resting on the ground and making out, and for the first time in my life, I don't mind that my clothes are ruined by the muddy ground.

I am too busy smiling against his lips to care for my appearance.

Our kissing is interrupted by a blonde, one of the many boys who asked me out before the ball. "Well, well. What do we have here? Scarhead is in love."

Harry winks at me and sits back up against the tree, drawing me to his chest. "Hey there, Malfoy and his pet rocks. How are you doing this fine day?"

Harry's reaction intrigues me so I rest the back of my head against his chest and observe the interaction silently. Two teenage trolls stand on either side of the blonde boy with their arms crossed, trying to look intimidating and failing because of the blank looks they are wearing.

The playful response has no effect on the boy who stays serious and glares at Harry through narrowed eyes and intones, "enjoy your time while you can, Potter. _Father_ says your days are numbered."

The 'Scarhead' says nothing for two minutes, contemplating something in silence. "Crabbe, Goyle, leave. Now." The trolls nod and leave, making Harry laugh. "You know your bodyguards are useless when they follow any order they receive."

Malfoy slaps his forehead and shakes his head in exasperation, his hand travelling down his face like he wants to wash it. "It's like having two retarded dogs. You love them but sometimes you can't help wonder if it's better to put them down." Both boys laugh before they halt, looking at each other with wide, unbelieving eyes.

An awkward silence ensues until Harry speaks, "what made you decide to do this?"

Malfoy stiffens. "I don't know what you are talking about, Potter. I always enjoy humiliating you."

Harry shakes his head in disappointment and gives the blonde a pointed look before waving his hand around aimlessly.

Malfoy's shoulders drop. "After you kicked the three idiots' asses last week, I thought about what you said to the older one. You were right. No matter what kind of shit you are in, you somehow come out smelling like roses. I am ensuring my safety in the unlikely event that you pull some miracle out of your arse again."

What the hell are they talking about? That makes no sense.

"Fair enough and don't worry, I'll remember this." The blonde boy nods before turning away. "You should read up on everything that happened during the last war. It may give you some perspective." Another nod by the blonde though he doesn't turn to us. "And if you ever find yourself in need of... let's say, a quiet vacation with your mother, I know a guy who knows a guy."

The blonde boy looks back in surprise. "You'd do that for me?"

"Better to help you than have you as an enemy."

"That's surprisingly smart of you." He walks away before stopping again. "This changes nothing between us."

Harry grins dangerously and nods. "Of course not. I still hate you and you still hate me."

The blonde boy leaves and we sit in contemplative silence for minutes before I can't take it anymore. "I'm confused. What just happened? He threatened you and you offered him a vacation?"

Harry tightens his arms around me and pulls me closer, nuzzling my neck. "He didn't threaten me. He warned me his father is planning something. Probably something to do with Voldemort but he doesn't realise that. He basically threw his father to the dragon and told me his father said I am going to die. But what made me sure he was changing his _modus operandi_ was the way he acted. He is many things, but he's never calm and collected. He loves theatrics, and he loves to perform in front of an audience. He'd never threaten me without a crowd to back him up and he wouldn't be so calm about it."

"You Englishmen are weird."

He gets up and pulls me up. "Come. There is something I want to show you." He leads me to Hogwarts and up the stairs.

It is an odd feeling, holding hands with someone without a care about any onlookers and knowing he'll be there tomorrow; that this is somehow real. I feel like I am part of something more important than anything I have done so far and whatever tears may the future hold for me, I will have a shoulder to cry on.

I miss most of the walk in my introspect, allowing Harry to lead me so I'm momentarily surprised when he speaks. "I miss waking up to see you so much," he confesses, and when I come to, I realise we just passed through the 'old man in a wig' painting.

"I miss it too but you know I can't stay here while my sister stays with me," I answer as we climb the stairs.

"Why not?"

I roll my eyes at him, secretly pleased by his insistence. "I can't leave my _eight-year-old_ sister alone for all night."

"Who said anything about leaving her alone?" he asks as we walk into his room. Everything in the room is the same as it was the last time I was here a week ago; except for one thing; there is a large, comfortable looking new sofa next to the window. "You and your sister can sleep in my bed and I'll take the sofa."

"Are you sure? Gabrielle can be a handful if she gets used to you."

"Even if Gabrielle wasn't adorable, and we both know she is, I would endure her to spend more time with you."

That makes me smile. At least one member of my family gets along with Harry. "Fine, I guess we can stay here," I say haughtily as if I'm doing him a big favour.

"Good," he says with a bright smile, not at all affected by my act. "That reminds me, where is your sister?"

"Visiting the unicorn herd with Hagrid and Aimee," I answer, taking a step towards him and draping my arms around his shoulders.

His bright smile turns more devious as he leers at me, causing shivers to run down my spine. "Oh? If only we had something to do while we wait for their return," he sighs dramatically, his hands travelling up my legs and landing on my hips as he pulls me flush against him.

"We could take a walk around Hogwarts," I offer even as I lean in for a kiss.

He doesn't answer verbally but his lips shoot down that idea as he closes the last inch between us. When we break apart, breathless and flushed, our clothes rumpled, I can't help the words escaping my mouth though I'm not sure I would fight it even if I could. "I love you."

His attack on my mouth, because it is an attack, not a simple kiss, is sudden and more passionate than any we shared so far, leaving me with jelly legs and a racing heart, unable to think. He follows the kiss with countless other kisses all over my face and neck, earning moans from me.

When he leans back and away from me, a protesting moan follows in his wake but the heat in his eyes and the most beautiful smile he ever gave me on his lips stop the protests. "In case it wasn't clear, that was an 'I love you too.'"

Yes, something is different between Harry and me, and I love the change.


	10. Episode IX

_**A/N**_ _: Well, hello again. I find myself having to write an Author's Note, once again, to both respond to some reviewers and to clear some air._

 _First, I'd like to start by saying I've read jbern's The Lie I've Lived over a year ago and quite enjoyed it so you may see a few of his influences. But the decision to write in first-person was to allow me to give a clear view of Harry's psyche and a literary decision not influenced by jbern._

 _Aimee's first and last name, on the other hand, seems to be a subconscious nod to jbern's story though I was unaware of the connection until I decided to reread the story when a reviewer mentioned the similarities between our stories. Whenever I need a name for an OC, I open a name generator and I selected her name from there; but I guess I felt drawn to that particular name combination because of jbern._

 _If any of you haven't read it, I strongly suggest you give a shot to jbern's The Lie I've Lived as I very much enjoyed it. Be warned though, the story has very different undertones and characters._

 _Second, I will touch upon the attempted rape story and the reasons Fleur's mother dismissed Fleur's plight in this chapter and continue to do so whenever the plot requires. Same with potential punishment for the three redheads for their attack on Harry. These are small plot-threads that will be resolved in their own time; have their effects come to light in time. We haven't seen the last of those characters yet._

 _I know some of my decisions may seem… odd- for the lack of a better word- at first glance but I promise; I have a clear picture in mind for what I want to achieve and if I haven't explained why a character does something or reacts in a certain way, I will do so in future chapters. This story is told from Harry and Fleur's perspectives and even then, doesn't go into every minute detail but I don't plan to leave any plot points, no matter how minor, hanging._

 _That being said, please, if you think a character acts irrationally or out-of-character, feel free to comment on it. Your reviews help me understand which parts of the story I successfully share and which parts lack clarity; and will help me get better at this craft as I go along._

 _And once again, thank you for reading my story and I look forward to reading your thoughts on it, whether criticism or praise._

 _And onward we go...  
_

 **Chapter 1: A Song of Love and Life**

 **March 6, 1995  
** "I'm glad to see you took my request seriously."

"A bet is a bet, love, and I'm a girl of my word." Fleur flicks her wavy, silvery hair and gives me a quizzical look. "I do wonder what you have in mind that would require me to dress in such a casual outfit for our date?"

Casual in this case is a combination of skin-tight jeans, a white long-sleeved tank-top and a pink cardigan; and I must say, she pulls it off better than should be reasonable. What a surprise.

"You'll need to be comfortable for what I've planned," I answer enigmatically, enjoying the slight frustration she attempts to hide. There is something to be said about how enticing and dangerous she looks when flustered, and I so enjoy pushing my boundaries.

For all my bluster, what I have planned is nothing special: a dinner, followed by an hour of ice-skating and a live-concert before ending our night-out with a lovely and slightly illegal late-dinner on top of Tower of London accompanied by various singers, courtesy of my charmed transmitter.

I should remember to thank Albus for that delightful birthday gift.

Anyway, tonight is our first real date and I have no intention of wasting it with new experiences that would take away from what is supposed to be a simple night with my girlfriend and a further chance to learn about her without the safety of monotony, the rose-tinted glasses of romance, or the rush of excitement.

So, I came up with this lovely combination. A dinner to ease us into the night and allow us to ask the questions one would ask their significant others. Ice-skating to recharge us and add a few laughs to the night. Followed by a concert by Prince and finishing the night on top of a historic tower, enjoying the view with wine in our hands.

She huffs and takes my hand, letting me drag her to the gates and out of the grounds. I would never admit it out loud, but she and Hermione share a similar disposition when 'slightly' irritated, and I don't know how I feel about that.

"First, we have to eat lunch so we won't starve for the rest of the evening and night," I say before I twirl us on the spot, dragging us miles and miles south to an alley near a small Italian restaurant in London. Grinning at the dangerous look she throws at me as she takes deep breaths, I plant a kiss on her lips, leaving her even more winded, a good kind this time.

"You better hope I enjoy this date or you will lose any right to deciding future dates," she warns, a small smile playing her lips as she throws her head back and drags her ridiculously long fingernails - claws more like - on my neck threateningly.

"Meh," I answer with a nonchalant shrug as I pull her to my body, put my hands around her shoulders and turn her around, leading her towards the bistro. "As long as I am with you, I'm not averse to letting you decide on the activities."

"Then why did you bet for it?" she asks, resting her head against my upper chest after she plants a kiss on my jaw.

"Why, so you would striptease for me, of course," I answer with a grin, enjoying her blush as she looks around the street to ensure no one heard my declaration before slapping me on the chest and dragging her nails lower before hugging me. "The rest is merely to ensure you have a good time before I have my good time," I say the last part in a seductive whisper, or what I hope is seductive. I can never tell with my voice's tendency to crack at inopportune times.

"Pervert."

"Only for you, baby. Only for you."

No matter how much she attempts to hide it, I can see her pleased smile at that as I lead her into the bistro and to empty seats by the window. "Hey, Leo!" I greet the owner with a smile, shaking his hand.

For a whole year after having two weeks of summer in Italy, I was obsessed with Italian cuisine. Sirius and I found this lovely place that summer, a week before I started my third year and we visited every other weekend. It's a small, half-a-dozen-table bistro that serves anything from pizza to panini, to grilled chicken. Plus, it is run by Leo, his wife Bridget, and son Richard; a lovely family with talent for food running in their veins and smiles for every customer.

"James! Welcome. You haven't shown up in a long time, my young friend," Leo greets back, shaking my hand eagerly, a large, friendly smile on his face as usual.

"I know, and I have missed your cooking dearly." I smile at the personable man as I sit down. "But I brought you a French girl for you to corrupt with your talents."

"Bah! French!" he screams, not loud enough to attract any attention but with enough theatrical disdain to irritate Fleur. "But don't worry, my friend, I promise to teach her what real food and wine should taste like before you leave."

I grin at the indignation on Fleur's face as the man leaves, returning a minute later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He gives me a wink. "I trust you'll not mention this to your father?"

A roll of eyes is inevitable as I imagine how that conversation would go, considering Sirius' incessant push for me to rebel against the constraints of society. He may have matured since my parents' death, but he sure as hell likes to pretend otherwise. "It'd only endear you to him further," I reassure the man as he pours us each a glass before leaving again.

Fleur takes a sip of the wine and gives me a grudging nod. "Not bad. But he didn't even ask what we wanted to drink or eat?"

I take a sip before answering with a nod. "This isn't that kind of restaurant, love. There are no fancy wine lists or menus. He brings you whatever he has as a drink and puts together a spread of cheese, meats, slices of various pizzas, panini and whatever else he feels like cooking up."

"No wonder they don't look busy," she sniffs, derision clear in her tone.

Her snobbery with a dash of stubborn pride for her country makes me smile. "Ah, but I can promise you, by the time we leave, you'll be one of Leo's many regulars, in love with his cooking, and enjoying his energy."

Fleur looks doubtful, but that changes as soon as she tastes the first pizza Leo brings, moaning in delight at the explosion of taste as she bites into the cheesy delight, making Leo and I share smug grins. "Okay. I was wrong. Oh, so wrong. Leo, was it? You just became my favourite person among your gender."

"Hey!"

My indignation is lost on both as Leo grins in delight, always happy to win a new customer and share his love of food with them, and Fleur shrugs and gives me an apologetic look. "You should know, dear, the way to the French's heart goes through our stomach," she adds. "Something you should work on. Ability to make breakfast food and find a good restaurant won't do you any favours."

"I shouldn't have brought you here," I grumble good-naturedly, happy that Fleur is enjoying the date so far.

Leo leaves our table when another table fills with his regulars who greet him just as warmly as I did, sharing their own private jokes with the man. I join Fleur in silent enjoyment of our food as talking when there is such a delicious spread in front of us feels sacrilegious.

"We should have gone on a date sooner," Fleur complains once there is a lull in our eating, sipping her wine.

"I asked you out in November," I remind her, grinning when she squirms in her seat. "You could have tasted Leo's cooking months ago if you weren't so bloody stubborn."

She sticks out her tongue at me, making me laugh and feel giddy at her obvious comfort in the family-run establishment, easing a worry from my mind. Even after seeing her at her purest, I was worried she'd let her snobbish nature prevent her from enjoying good things in life without a shiny presentation and a pretentious setting.

"Sure. Make me feel bad; why don't you?" Fleur grouses, pouting at me. "That's what dating is for."

"I'm glad we are in agreement," I concur. A comfortable silence descends on us as we gaze at each other with goofy smiles like two love-sick puppies. But, there are questions I want to ask and stories I want to hear so I break the silence, my smile smaller but no less genuine. "Will you tell me about… Alphonse or whatever his name was?"

She sighs and gives me a long look before nodding, her demeanour screaming reluctance as she crosses her arms, her wine still in her hand. "He's from an old family of French nobles dating back before the establishment of Statute of Secrecy. His great-grandfather was a duke and a prince-in-title though they were forced to give up their titles when the Statute went into effect."

She takes a deep breath and takes a sip of wine as I watch her. Meanwhile, I take another bite of the pizza, risking a stomach explosion but unable to stop myself. "I don't know how much you know about the socio-economic structure of Magical France but there is a small yet somewhat powerful faction who still carries the notion you are who made you. That no commoner can achieve the greatness the highborn is born with."

"Mother and her mother believe in that value system. Mostly because after my maternal grandfather's ardent support of Grindelwald, my grandmother lost everything: even the man she so lovingly married and the fortune she was supposed to inherit with his death. She had to sell most of her valuables - jewellery and deeds- and allow my mother to marry my father, the firstborn of a Veela."

"So, my mother decided I would marry Alphonso and allow her to live in the promised glory of living as a part of the high society." A dark chuckle escapes her mouth as she gives me a wicked grin. "I went through puberty just before reaching thirteen so I was already attracting attention. I was dating Henry who was a year older than me but… well, you know how that turned out. Mother sent a letter to him as if written by my hand, informing him of my decision to accept Alphonse's courting effort."

"Henry and I… Well, the truth came out, but we never could settle our differences after that and frankly, I think he feared Mother. Mother arranged for a dinner with Alphonse's mother and Alphonse and dragged me to their mansion." She stops and tilts her head to a side. "How much do you know about Veela? Or emotion-altering potions?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "About Veela? Next to nothing. I found only one book in the library and it was all bullshit. About emotion-altering potions? Not much other than that they exist. Potions were never a passion for me."

She sighs and nods. "When you drink a so-called love potion, it causes you to produce more of the hormones that would drive you to obsess over someone. The same thing happens with other mood-altering potions, and especially the case with lust potions. But things are different with me, and any other Veela. I have a natural resilience to any mood and mind-altering magic, including the likes of the Imperius because my metabolism reacts faster than normal for a witch. I heal, run and age faster. That's why life expectancy is higher among Veela than witches even though it's statistically impossible for us to see our two-hundreds while it's not rare for a witch without veela heritage to reach such an age."

"But I digress. Alphonse didn't know that when he offered to show me around and gave me a potioned drink." She takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing, her eyes unseeing and ears unhearing as she probably relives that moment, unaware of the slight creaking sound coming from the table because of her fluctuating emotions and magic. "It was awkward, fighting the effects. I got dizzy, my arms felt incredibly heavy while my body produced two opposite sets of hormones at a faster rate. Thankfully, I still was aware enough. When I refused his advances, he got mad and forceful. He said I was his; that Mother," she spits before continuing in the same tight voice as before, "promised me to him."

"I take it you proved to him just why messing with Fleur Delacour is a bad idea?" I ask with a grin, trying to calm her.

Her answering smirk is deliciously evil as she drags her fingernails across her glass, carving a thin line on it and adding credence to my 'claw' theory. "You could say that. You can't imagine my surprise when I heard he could get his wife pregnant."

Ouch.

Now, don't confuse my reflexive wince with sympathy for the arsehole; he got what he deserved. Hell, his suffering should have involved more pain and should have been prolonged. I have no pity to spare for a rapist.

But, I'm a boy, and an offensive move towards where the male ego is normally located is bound to get a reaction out of me.

Did I say 'boy'? I meant man. Manly man.

Meh. That's getting old.

"That's my girl," I congratulate my date, my wince quickly turning to a victorious grin. "What about your father? I can't believe he'd be okay with what almost happened."

"Oh, he wasn't," Fleur answers with a nod. "He and Mother got into a big fight about it even. But with no proof, there wasn't anything he could have done other than conducting raids on the flimsiest excuses and causing as much inconvenience to that wretched family as he could."

"That's something, I guess. I don't know what I would have done, to be honest. I can get a little… overzealous when I am truly mad."

She raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine as her shoulders relax with the clear change of subjects. "Like what happened with Bill and the other two redheads?"

I shake my head furiously, unwilling to accept any blame for the incident. "No way. They attacked me and I responded in kind."

"I'm not saying you were in the wrong," she cuts in before I can continue. "But you must admit, you should have allowed Professors or Aurors to handle it instead of attacking in revenge and stopping any formal process before it could begin."

She has a point. By attacking them after the effects of the potion left my body, I enacted an odd form of justice called Penae ab Victima, otherwise known as Right to Choose Punishment. It only works in civil cases and there are limits to what I could have done to the redheads. If the DMLE deemed my attack insufficient punishment, they would have pressed charges still. Or alternatively, if they deemed my attack to be greater than my injuries, I would have to pay reparations.

Many disputes between families have been resolved through this law in history, and by manipulating this law, the Malfoy family bankrupted the Weasleys when a Malfoy née Weasley gave birth to a redhead when any child born to Malfoy blood is always blonde.

I lean back on my seat, my eyes not leaving hers as I consider before nodding. "Perhaps, I should have, but after what their innocent little prank did, I wasn't inclined to postpone my revenge, and even if I had been, I wasn't exactly in my right mind. I was primed for a fight, and they were convenient targets and were mostly responsible for making me feel like a cornered animal."

"What do you mean?" she asks with a curious tilt to her voice as she circles the rim of her glass with a finger. "I mean, I heard some details of what happened, but no one knew what that potion did to you, and I felt it was better to leave it alone."

I sigh and rub my forehead in irritation, unsure if I should change the subject. I've never been one to open up easily, especially about something with such a deep effect on my psyche but… Well, she's Fleur, and a part of me wants her to know, wants to unload my worries to her so she could understand me better and perhaps even help heal me. I can't deny she makes things better just by being near me, making it easier for me to process life.

"You know I am learning Occlumency?" I ask, surprising Fleur with the sudden change of subject. She nods, watching me curiously as she refills her wine. "That's because I sometimes have visions of what Tom is up to. That's what happened in the Forbidden Forest while I was painting and my scar bled."

I then tell her about my realisations about Occlumency and my fears about Legilimency. I tell her about my fears and just what those bastards' little prank potion showed me… Just who I have the potential of becoming.

It feels good to let everything out, cathartic even. Perhaps this is why we humans always seek companionship? Because life is easier to bear when it is two against the world instead of fighting the waves alone?

Huh. You learn something new every day.

She watches me in silence for a long time when I'm finished with my tale and my worries, processing what I said, and when she understands what goes through my mind, she gives me a grim smile. "I guess we'll just have to work twice as hard to make sure that doesn't happen, won't we?"

I know I said it before, but I don't think I can do it justice, so I'll repeat: Fleur makes me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to, makes me feel invincible, and I fucking love it. Love the thrill of power it gives me.

And I admire that she doesn't say such a thing would never happen because I'm too good to allow for it to happen or some other innately naive shit like that. No, she acknowledges my struggles and tells me we'll work hard to overcome them. And it is the 'we' part of her words that is the real cure.

So, I give her my sweetest smile and most determined nod. "That, we shall," I agree. "But can we put that on hold until after our date?" I add with a grin. "I'd prefer a striptease in the short-run."

As her laughter rings in my ears and the small restaurant, causing Leo to give me a raised eyebrow and a thumbs-up. I can't help think I hit the jackpot with Fleur. She is truly magnificent and I thank whatever gods may be for giving me the courage to walk to her table on my birthday.

Because honestly, how many fourteen-year-old boys could say they spent a night in a goddess' arms, let alone do so regularly? And how many of them could hope to win such a heart and passion.

No, sir. I am all too aware just how lucky a bastard I am.

 **-HP-  
**  
"I really thought that would go differently," I confess as we leave the ice-skating rink, arm in arm and with wide smiles and pink cheeks.

"Oh? And how did you think it would go?"

I stay silent as we return our skates and leave the small compound in central London. "I thought you would fall, allowing me to catch you like the hero I am, then mock you. Not the opposite."

Fleur giggles into my shoulder as she buries her head. "That was stupid of you." I give her a questioning look as she grins. "You forgot I am friends with Aimee and assumed she never dragged me to ice-skating."

I snort at my obvious mistake as I imagine Aimee on an ice rink, gleefully laughing with a childish smile on her face. "Yes, that is obvious in hindsight. Still, can't say I regret it."

We are a few streets away from the Wembley Stadium and with the weather as nice as it is, walking seems like a nice choice though neither of us discusses it before reaching the same conclusion.

As we walk among countless people, she slowly loses her enthusiasm for any conversation and her shoulders tense. It takes me a while to recognise the reason for her change of moods but when a man we pass by leers at Fleur without a shame. Now that I'm aware of the change, I can smell Fleur's Flowery Flavour™. "Your bracelet?" I ask, the message clear.

"Yes," she answers, her tone tight and a little upset. "We should return to Hogwarts."

"Can't you recast the charms on the bracelet?" I ask, unwilling to allow the date to end so quickly.

"Do you know how complex the necessary charm work is? It takes over an hour to complete a simple bracelet and those usually work for two hours at most," she hisses, not in anger but in disappointment if I'm reading her correctly.

I rack my brain for an idea to salvage our date but I don't know how a veela's pull works to figure out a way to counter it. "How does the bracelet work?" I ask as we continue as if we haven't noticed the eyes on Fleur, except the cold look in her face.

"Is now really to time to discuss my physiology, Harry?"

I might be wrong but I think Fleur is upset. I'm pretty sure she is. If she's not, the glare that burns through the left side of my face wouldn't make any sense.

"Humour me while we look for a viable apparition point."

She sighs but does as I ask just after we turn to a less crowded street to give ourselves some breathing room. "Veela release certain pheromones that attract the attention of men and lower their inhibitions. The bracelets I make work by stopping the pheromones' production."

Okay, that does sound complicated and for once again, I am amazed she can charm a bracelet to do such a complex task. I don't even want to even consider the possible side-effects of suppressing parts of her hormonal system. There is one thing that bugs me though. "So, it is your smell that attracts attention right?"

She nods, looking up at me with questioning eyes, wondering where I'm going with this. "And a bubblehead charm works by transfiguring the air inside the bubble to breathable air, and that would include the pheromones you release."

Her eyes widen in comprehension and I can see she's excited about the prospect of an easier-to-charm version of the bracelets. "But a bubblehead charm is very easy to spot, and it surrounds only the head of the target, not the whole body."

I'm far ahead of her on that and have a few ideas on possible solutions already. "So we manipulate it to act like a… thin film covering your entire body and cast either a… Do you think it's possible to cast a disillusionment charm on a piece of magic? Or we could try other illusions."

She's vibrating with excitement on the spot, walking faster and forcing me to adjust to her speed. "Let's return to Hogwarts so we can test if your idea can work."

I shake my head as she pulls us into a tiny alley that would hide any magic we cast. "Let's do it here," I say as my wand slaps into my hand with a flick of my wrist, a muggle-repelling charm follows another flick of a wrist. That should give us enough time to alter a difficult piece of magic and test a brand new theory.

Well, brand new for me. For all I know, there are countless books on it, and I just haven't come across any. Still, it's an undertaking that deserves better than a dirty alley that smells like boiled piss- and why do I care I am underage and about to break the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and Statute of Secrecy? I am young and prone to stupidity. Especially if the other option is a ruined date.

"Are you so desperate to finish our date as you planned to go so far as to break the law?" she asks, grinning at me with both her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Hell yes," I answer with a similar grin as I take off her bracelet and get hit by a heavy blast of her wonderful smell, suddenly reminded of how much I love it. "Do you want to do it, or should I?"

"It's your idea," she says with a shake of her head. "And you are more experienced than me at manipulating spells."

Okay, Potter, it's on you now. Work your magic.

"Indiuere Aspiratus," I whisper, bending the spell to perform to my specifications. A blue flash of light leaves my wand, a sing that I cast a spell though it's impossible to know if it worked until Fleur tries it on. The second part is actually easier as I know my illusion charms and I must have cast the disillusionment charm countless times in last three years to sneak around.

Fleur takes the bracelet with barely contained glee as soon as I'm finished and puts it on, a thin blur, that I can see only because of my focus, spreads from the bracelet, covering her torso and ending just below her neck. The slight pressure in my mind lessens considerably but stays nonetheless, indicating a limited success. I sniff and feel a pang of loss when my nose can barely pick up her Fleur's Flowery Flavour™. Still, I'm ready to make the sacrifice for a nice date with my beau.

How magnanimous of me, I know.

She gives me a large smile and attacks my mouth with a fervour I rarely get from the collected witch, not that I have grounds to complain about any lack of passion. My hands wrap around her waist as hers do the same across my neck, the thin film of the Bubblehead charm protesting against my neck, buckling slightly.

I grumble at the flaw in my design while Fleur smiles against my lips, giving me one last peck before stepping away and fixing her cardigan. "Thank you, Harry."

I wave her thanks away, hiding how pleased I am at her enthusiasm for my success. "It doesn't stop your pull completely but I think it lowers it enough that the looks you'll receive will be mostly because of your beauty."

"Oh? Are you saying you think I'm beautiful?" she says, a coy smile on her face as she's visibly excited.

I grin at her and take her hand, the film covering her skin protesting, again, against my skin, making me feel like I'm holding a basilisk's hand. That image, more than Fleur's words, make me snort, though I am not above maintaining the illusion of otherwise. "Let's just say you are not bad looking," I sort-of compliment with a tilt to my head as I pull her to the street to continue on our way to the concert venue.

She huffs but can't fight the smile on her face. "I'm serious. Thank you. Once we perfect this version of the bracelet, it will work even better than the original design."

I shrug, not sure why she's making such a big deal. "Anything to help."

"You don't get it," she complains petulantly, shaking her head. "Enchanters sell one of these bracelets for five galleons, and they last only a day at most. Depending on how much time I have and the circumstances the bracelet is used in, mine last somewhere between an hour and seven hours. Your version would last longer because it's simpler and the pressure on the magic is much less. If you perfect the design and sell it to an enchanter, I have no doubt you'll earn a respectable sum of money."

It's satisfying to know I can make money instead of relying on the money my parents left me but I am far too young to worry about such things. Besides, I still haven't spent the money I got for the skin and scales of the basilisk. "Meh. I'm fourteen. Not really old enough to care about financially sound decisions."

She giggles but lets the subject drop as we reach the entrance to the stadium and I pull out our tickets. It takes us half an hour to enter the stadium proper and reach the front of the stage with soft drinks in our hands.

We spend the next two hours enjoying a great show during which she reminds me I enjoy dancing when it's with her and just how expressive she can be with her body. As I watch her dance, I can help feel proud of my burst of brilliance that allowed us to continue our night.

If only I could actually touch her from neck below; keeping my hand on her face has become creepy only two minutes in.

Still, it's a perfect night.

 **-HP-  
**  
I spoke too soon.

And I seriously misjudged just how aggressive horny men could get when faced with an utterly gorgeous girl like Fleur.

Either way, my hand hurts like hell and Fleur's fuming expression does nothing to elevate my nervousness as she looks ready to tear me a new one any second. I think asking her to mend my hand wouldn't be my smartest idea.

Still, it isn't my fault a bastard thought he could get away with groping my girlfriend and trying to get in between us with his whale-ish body, speaking more in grunts than in any civilised language. And if I broke his nose and knocked him out after casting a subtle charm on my hand that coated my skin with stone… Well, he deserved it.

If only I remembered my hand would feel like I punched a stone wall because of something silly called Newton's Third Law of Motion.

I sigh as I follow the angry blonde, cradling my hand and wincing at the sudden pain as I stumble after jumping over a broken beer bottle. "Fleur," I call after her as her pace increases though she refuses to acknowledge me. "Fleur! Will you stop?"

She turns with a glare and huffs when her eyes find my bloodied hand, but stays silent, her arms intertwined in front of her.

"I'm sorry, okay? What was I supposed to do? Let him assault you?"

She huffs again, a tuft of hair dropping over her eyes. "I am not a helpless girl you have to protect, Harry. I can very well handle an ogre with ideas above his station."

Yeah, she's right about that.

I sigh and nod, my shoulders dropping. "I know, I'm sorry. I just lost it for a second there."

Her glare softens, turning to one of exasperation and irritation instead of anger. "I am a Triwizard champion, Harry. I will not have you acting like a macho man and belittling me like I'm a weak little girl."

"Okay, okay. I get it," I agree, looking at her like a brainless ape, my expression mirroring the blonde pig's- the one in need of a nose job, courtesy of me- proving I'm not the smartest man on the planet. "Me, moron. You, powerful. Me hurt. You fix."

That earns a snicker from her as she closes the distance between us and drags me to a dark, empty alley before casting the required healing charms on my hand. I stretch my hand to test her work and give her a nod and a smile. "You great."

Throwing that punch with my right hand was an unfortunate and stupid choice because I have trouble casting with my left one, but I can't regret that decision when it taught me this. It's something that would cause problems during a life-threatening situation. And isn't it tragic that I have to consider every little thing in relation to how it would affect me in a life-and-death situation?

Man, life should be simpler.

Once I'm sure my hand works just fine and does not require Skele-Gro,- yikes! - I grab her hips and pull her near. "I really am sorry. My fragile male-ego stopped me from considering how it would seem to you. And please, don't think I consider you anything but one of the most gifted witches I ever met and my equal."

She drapes her hands over my shoulder and nods. "As long as we are clear on that." Her lips curl up in a perfect mischievous smile, giving me the urge to drag her back to our room. "And if you need a reminder, I could always kick your arse in a duel," she jokes with a lift of an eyebrow.

At least, I think she jokes because the self-assured way she says it may very well point to her belief in a victory, in which case it is my duty to teach her the error of her ways. Either way, I look forward to such a duel. "That's not a bad idea, you know."

Her other eyebrow joins the first, her expression morphing into surprise. "Oh?"

"If you plan to hang around me," I start, ignoring her snort at my likening her to a tag along. "You should learn how to defend yourself - not that I don't think you can, but extra help never hurts."

"And who's going to teach me? You?" she asks, her tone challenging.

"Nah. I mean I'm sure I can teach you a trick or two but I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me for my training sessions. Flitwick will join us once or twice a week and Snape once a week, but mostly, it will be Sirius teaching us."

Her heads sway from side to side as she considers before she nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "That may be a good idea. And it would help with the duelling portion of the tournament." She gives me a mock-threatening look, her eyes narrowing. "Speaking of the duelling tournament, if you think just because I let you warm my bed, I will go easy on you, you are dead wrong, boy."

"Man," I whisper reflexively before twirling us around and changing the world around us. Our landing is soft on top of the Tower of London with bright lights, the twinkling stars and a half-moon as our only company. Two fires, fifty feet away on both sides burn bright to stave off the cold.

She looks momentarily surprised before her threatening look returns with a little more heat this time. "Just for that, I will go extra hard on you."

"I look forward to getting my arse kicked then," I say in a quiet, uncaring voice. It is too great a night to care for any duels.

A content sigh escapes her lips and her head finds my chest to rest on as I breathe in her scent, my arms tightening around her, bringing her as close as I can. She whispers the words that never fail to jolt my heart, "I love you."

I have a problem. Sometimes, my mouth works faster than my mind and my wisecracking tendencies get the better of me. So, I'm not too surprised when I quip, "Who wouldn't?" but I am disappointed in myself for ruining a perfect moment. I sigh in relief when she doesn't take offence for my lack of timing, and land a kiss on her hair, the moonlight shining off where I kiss. "I love you too."

"So," she begins, turning around without moving away from me and looking around with her back to my chest. "Why did you bring us here?"

I wrap my hands around her midriff and rest my chin on her shoulder. "I thought we could finish our outing by enjoying the leftovers from Leo's place under the moonlight and with the city of London beneath our feet while jolly-old Frank and his friends sing for us."

"Zappa or Sinatra?"

I answer with only a chuckle as I try to lead us to where Dobby set the table without disengaging. I don't think it's necessary to mention why my attempt ends with me on the floor and Fleur sprawled over me with a flushed face and a surprised expression that just looks adorable. "Sorry," I breathe out, mesmerised by her beauty as her hair, once again, cuts us off from the rest of the world as it drapes all around our faces.

"I can feel your heartbeat," she says, her voice throaty and far too sexy. "It's beating very fast."

"I have a very exciting view."

I don't know if we are a special case or if I am being too sappy, but with Fleur, any moment we spend together has the potential to become a clock stopping, mind-blowing, heart-racing moment where we live in a bubble of our own, and the world could burn to ashes without either of us realising. This is one of those moments that lasts a lifetime in a second. When she stands up and helps me up, I am not sure whether we've stayed on the ground a minute or an hour. It is disorienting and is rapidly becoming my favourite way to spend time.

We eat, talk and dance the night away, two small fires keeping us warm enough, and various artists performing a private concert for us. The small surprise on her face when I ask her to dance with me doesn't take away from my joy as I twirl her around on top of one of the most historic buildings in the world while her laughter only adds to the magic of the night.

And as the night turns into a new day and the extra bottle from Leo's place gets emptier, I have a flashback to the night we met. I am surprised to realise I feel the same excitement I felt that night and even more awe at the sight of her smile as we dance and sing and talk and drink and build a relationship that is worth more to either of us than the other thinks.

So, is it any surprise that my heart never slows down from the time she feels it on top of me to when I fall asleep with a stupid grin on my face, remembering her coy smile as she lost her clothes under the stars with an erotic dance, to my new favourite song that I have a trouble remembering the name of.

It is good to be me and boy, am I glad to have won our bet! ****

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Chapter 2: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang**

 **March 14, 1995  
** "Oh, I didn't know Miss Delacour would join us, Mr Potter."

"Sorry, Sir? I forgot to mention," I say sheepishly as I rub the back of my neck, cursing the rare instance I forget something other than a potions homework or anything to do with Snape.

I don't trust that guy.

Okay, I am exaggerating, I know, but I can't help blame him for my sudden enlightenment about the possibility of getting a personality transplant. I was happy in my ignorance; he stole that from me. Using Fleur to do that didn't endear him any further and getting cursed by his skinny arse in front of Fleur a few days ago on the first training session he joined made my bitterness even more pronounced.

Whatever. I still trust Albus so I'll play nice. Well, by nice, I mean pranking him whenever he gets the urge to go extra arsehole but showing him just enough grudging respect to maintain an illusion of civility. It's a delicate balance.

This is actually the first lesson Flitwick joins and I am excited. As talented as Sirius and Remus both are - Sirius more so than Remus, but Remus does eclipse Sirius with just how much he knows - Either way, as talented as they are, Flitwick is one of the world's best duellers and knows just about every trick and style there is. He's one of those people who forgot more than I know and can teach me many things. And Fleur, hopefully.

"No, no. The more the merrier," the jolly man answers. "Even better, we'll have an increased chance of an intelligent conversation."

Sirius and I answer at the same time with equally indignant cries of, "Hey!"

Fleur grins as she sweeps past me to stand in the centre of the auditorium on the left side corridor of the third floor per Flitwick's request. "Thank you, Professor. Sadly, I understand what a rare occurrence that has been lately."

The mocking look she throws at me as I stand next to Sirius with both our arms crossed, makes me snort as I turn to Sirius and whisper harshly, "I think we are being mocked, Siri."

Sirius scratches her head, looking at me and the insulting pair alternatively, his head whipping around. "Are you sure?"

I nod vehemently. "Yes, they said we weren't…" I tilt my head to a side and scratch my chin. "What was that word again? Inte- something." I consider for a moment, mimicking Goyle at an exam before I snap my finger in triumph. "Anti-legend! Yes! They think we are against legendary conventions."

"Pfft. We can go to a legendary convention. Why, I hear the West European Veela Congregation will have their harvest celebration next weekend. I'm sure we can join them for a weekend of debauchery?"

At that, Fleur and I turn to the man with equally upset looks. "You can't take Harry-" she begins with an indignant voice before I cut off, "And you are telling me that now?!"

Fleur turns to me in shock before her expression morphs to irritation as she tries to hide a small smile and turns away with an oddly Hermione-like huff. Flitwick snickers, but, being the professional he is, is quick to bring our focus back to our purpose for being in the room. "If you are all done with your legendary conversation," he says in a playful tone, "why don't we start with a mock duel between Miss Delacour and Mr Potter so I can get a sense of your duelling styles. I'm sure Miss Delacour would enjoy a chance to show Mr Potter what she thinks of the idea."

The firm nod Fleur gives Flitwick makes me regret my previous joke for a moment and I gulp. "Why don't we invite Voldemort? I'm sure he won't say no to a mock duel."

Fleur's lips curl up in a smile but she holds in her snort. "Scared, Potter?"

I can't help myself. I just can't. It's a problem, I know but, Morgana be damned, I can't stop myself. "No, aroused," I say, my eyes moving up and down her body hungrily.

She tilts her head to aside and raises an eyebrow. "Do you always think about Voldemort when you are aroused? That doesn't sound healthy."

"Oh, now, I'm angry, Girl." My smile betrays my words but my voice is still challenging. "You know, I'm a chivalrous guy," I begin as I walk across the room and shaking off my outer cloak. I give her a nod, my smile cocky and movements exaggerated. "So I'll let you take the first shot."

Her answer comes in the form of a blasting curse flying at me at a surprising speed though I manage to stop it with a simple shield and start my offensive with 'The Handshake' chain. She stops the first two spells with a shield but has to dodge the stunner and the second disarming spell while I transfigure two of the chairs by the wall to two Roman-style shields. As soon as I charm the shields to be considerably more resistant to magic and transparent to only my eyes, and set them in front of me, two spells hit the centre of both with a gong each.

Fleur's next attack comes as a wave of white, hot fire that doesn't even singe my two shields while passing it by, forcing me to erect a wall of ice-cold water. The hiss of fire meeting water covers any other noise, but the smell of burnt hair proves how close Fleur's attack came to causing serious damage. I can hear the smile in her voice when she begins another incantation.

Taking advantage of the cover of the resulting mist, I conjure eight birds and send them over both sides of the shield before banishing the shields at an incredible speed just as her incantation ends; all the while the mist resulting from our clash blinds me. The mist condenses around my head, making it hard to breathe, but a simple bubblehead charm and a super-sensory charm negates the mist's debilitating effects without giving away my success.

Her defence against my birds is marvellous as she conjures and controls a whip of pure fire expertly, dancing around and destroying my birds with an ease that leaves me speechless. As soon as she's done with the birds, she casts a banishment charm to the ground that rebounds, gently throwing her over the shields that are closing in.

I may be speechless, but I am still on top of my game and my body-bind, followed by a wandless levitation charm finishes the duel and flies my magnificent girlfriend to my arms. I wrap my hands around her hips after taking her wand and dropping the body-bind, a cocky grin on my face. "I win."

I close the distance between our lips and give a triumphant grin when she mirrors the motion before jumping back without kissing her and waving a finger at her mockingly. "I win, you lose. I win, you lose."

Flitwick walks over to us with an excited clap that reminds Fleur of his presence, making her blush. "Indeed, that was a good performance, Mr Potter. You have improved since our duel. You performed well too, Miss Delacour; your movements were much more graceful and natural than what I saw in Spain."

Fleur huffs again at her loss but refrains from commenting as we both turn to the diminutive man.

"Watching both of your performances closer now, I can safely say you are amongst the best students I taught to duel, but both of your styles needs further refining. From what I've seen so far, you, Miss Delacour, should focus on chaining your spells and improving your aim. With how fluid and precise you are as you dodge and with your wand movement, your best weapon is sudden and precise attacks. Your style will allow you to stay fresh even in a prolonged duel. You must also improve your silent-repertoire to keep your opponent on their toes and more likely to give an opening with a larger spread of magic and fewer clues to your intentions."

He turns to me, his serious demeanour while giving Fleur his assessment turning even more so now. "You, Mister Potter, need to learn how to parry an attack and improve your transfiguration and conjuring speed. You have quick reflexes and you show great tactical-thinking as you proved in your duel against me with your use of illusions and counter-tactics; and in this one with your decision to create additional shields to allow you more options, instead of following your chain with another to press your momentary advantage. By learning how to parry, you'll have wider defensive options while you come up with a game-ending scheme without having to rely on shields. And if you can manipulate your environment with nary a thought and create solid shields even without using your environment, you can draw your opponent out easily and catch them off guard when you are ready."

I nod, impressed with just how much he deduced from watching our short duel even while internalising every word out of his mouth. "Professor, the other day, I found out it is possible to disillusion magical constructs. Is the same possible for spells? Can I cast an- I don't know- an invisible stunner?"

Flitwick tilts his head as he considers. "I don't see why not? It depends on the power behind the spell, of course, and it would add to the casting time. The spell trajectory would still be visible but if you slow the spell enough and if the environment is pattern-less, you may surprise your opponent. I doubt many professional duellers would try such a thing because of the limitations and the required time and focus, but if used under the right conditions, it could prove a good tactic."

Taking in every word the experienced man says, I visibly vibrate in place as I consider the potentials. "And it is possible to queue spells without casting or adding the target or a vector by establishing a specialised trigger to cast them simultaneously."

He smiles as he understands where I am going with my questions. "Yes, and if executed well, you could create a single wave of hardly visible spells but you'd have to mount a perfect defence as you charge the spells, all without losing your focus."

"I think we just found what we should be working on, don't you, Professor?" I ask with a wide, eager smile on my face as my excitement rises to new heights, and so does my determination to learn how to split my focus with occlumency.

"You realise a single moment of distraction would ruin all of your efforts with such a tactic, right?" he warns though his smile betrays his eagerness.

My self-assurance is obvious in my confident smile and nod. I have yet to fail in anything I set my mind to and I don't plan to in this one. If I can get good enough at this, I may just surprise Tom. "Against Voldemort, Sir, a single imperfection in my defence would mean death, and forgive me, but I have many dates with my girlfriend to look forward to. Death has no chance of catching me just yet."

Even with my self-assurance at survival, the two duels of Tom I had watched so far showed me a clear picture of what I am up against. Certainly, not the whole picture as it is safe to assume Tom always has a surprise under his sleeve, but so do I and with his casting speed and the power behind his spells, I know my defence has to be my main concern if I ever have to face him. And if I have to play defensive, I have to set traps and cast strategically to have a chance to survive, let alone win.

But like I said, I haven't failed at anything I set my mind to, and I refuse to contemplate the possibility of losing. I just have to play to my strengths and cover my weaknesses. It shouldn't be too hard.

Right?

Right...

 **-HP-**

 **March 17, 1995**  
Balzac is always good for a laugh; whether it is with a self-deprecating joke or a well-timed jab at someone which is why he finds himself in the heart of conversation at any group he's in. This one is no different as my three best-friends, Katie, Ginny, Aimee, Gabrielle, and Samantha, Fleur and I listen to his story eagerly, everyone laughing or giggling; except Gabrielle, as she's far too focused on her work.

"I shit you not, I had to go to the bathroom to puke three times I was so nervous. And I didn't even touch alcohol," the ridiculously large boy says, earning laughter from everyone.

Fleur buries her head on my shoulder, her body shaking with mirth as Balzac's words paint a disgustingly funny picture. "I'm sure that endeared you to Dacia's mother, eh?" I comment mockingly, my arms tightening around my girlfriend's shoulder as she laughs even harder as we lay on our bed.

Hermione and Ron are sitting awfully close together lately, copying many mannerisms of Neville and Ginny's relationship. Katie and Aimee form another duo, getting along well due to their equally energetic personalities, causing Samantha to roll her eyes every few minutes. Balzac is on his feet, telling his story with exaggerated motions.

Gabrielle is sitting by our feet, her small hands covered in paint, creating chaos on the paper. She was a surprise to me, as I didn't expect to get attached to her so quickly, but whenever I spend time with her, I feel refreshed.

And can I say; thank god for magic or washing off all that paint off her face and cleaning the sheets would have been a nightmare. Why does she have to cover everywhere with paints?

Shut up. I'm not being hypocritical.

"You are the one to talk, Mr you-will-not-tell-the-mermaid-story," Balzac shoots back, his tone daring.

"Yes! The mermaid story," Ron agrees with a large grin. "Come on, Harry. I'm sure there is nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Fine, Hermione, you tell it." I groan and turn to my love with a smirk "I'm going to distract myself on my girlfriend's lips."

She answers with a shake of her head and a push as she sits up. "No, I want to hear this."

"Traitor," I grumble good-naturedly and crawl away from her with a huff. "Hey, little angel. I guess you are my only friend now." Gabrielle gives me a bright smile and a nod, happy to be my lone confidant.

"This was the spring of last year, a few weeks before the exams. Ron was playing pickup Quidditch and I, somehow, let Harry- who was still James back then, and lord, does it seem like a lifetime ago- Anyway, I let him convince me to study with him by the lake instead of the library like any sane person would do so close to the end-of-the-year exams."

"By so close, she means six weeks before," Ron cuts in, earning snickering from everyone and a huff from Hermione though her lips curl up slightly.

"Well, when you are crazy enough to take every class…" I trail off, not looking away from Gabrielle's masterpiece and helping her create an even a bigger mess.

"I was not crazy," Hermione grumbles, making me turn to her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk at the same time as Ron and Neville; our motions and faces oddly synchronised. "I'm not!"

"Sure, Hermione. And I hate Quidditch, but please continue," Ron quips, causing Hermione's cheeks to redden as she glares at him.

"Whatever. We were by our spot by the lake; Harry was jumping around, acting all hyperactive while I was studying like we were supposed to be doing," Hermione continues. "I guess he was trying to climb a tree or something because when he asked me if I knew who the girl in the lake was, he was hugging a rather large branch in a very sloth-like way." She ignores my indignant huff, rightly so.

"I was frozen for a moment because I was quite surprised to see Harry so accepting of his animal side, and the goofy smile on his blank face was quite a sight. When I turned to the lake, there was, indeed, what looked like a naked girl though I didn't recognise her. Before I could share my observation with Harry..."

She trails off, snickering at remembrance before taking a deep breath and continuing her story. "He fell off the branch and right into a puddle of mud... face first. After he cleaned off - and I'm not ashamed to say I was no help because of my laughter- the mermaid jumped straight up and out of the water, flipped her tail and dived back." She takes another deep breath to stop from laughing before continuing though everyone is already laughing. "Harry then let out a high-pitched shriek and jumped back."

I hide my face, hoping my blush doesn't extend to my neck, as they all laugh uproariously at my embarrassment. "I see you started noticing mermaids long before you noticed girls, Harry," Balzac barks.

I can't help the groan that escapes me as Fleur pulls me to her even as she giggles. "Is that why that Siren attacked? Was it a lovers' quarrel?"

Hermione harrumphs and sniffs at Fleur, not at all shy about making her opinion of the girl known. Not that I can begrudge my best friend her opinion when the beginning of my relationship was so rocky, but her dismissive behaviour of Fleur cannot continue. We've already had clashes with one in-law. I don't need my friends to cause further tension in my relationship and cause problems.

Like I told Aimee about Fleur and Bill; even if Hermione thinks I'm making a mistake by dating Fleur, she should support me. Just like I would support her if she continues whatever her relationship is with Viktor even though I am sure it won't go anywhere as long as a part of Hermione still wishes Ron had asked her to the Yule Ball.

I slap Fleur gently on her shoulder and grin. "My darling was a mermaid, not a siren, though I have to say, she was very presumptuous when she ran into her prince under the lake; flashing me off like she did."

"She did?" Fleur asks, laughing into her hand. "I hope you didn't fall on your face this time?"

"Nah. She was a bit camera shy," I answer with a grin. "I'd like to think we are even in embarrassing each other."

"Anyway," Hermione cuts in as she returns to her story. "When Harry shrieked, the mermaid responded with a shriek of her own for some unfantomable reason, causing Harry to shriek again. They must have conversed in high-pitched shrieks for at least ten minutes until the Giant Squid had enough and threw a fish at Harry's head."

"Cheeky bastard," I grumble as I remember the shock of having a fish smack me on my forehead.

To be honest, I never was as opposed to sharing this story as I acted. But that doesn't mean my cheeks aren't as red as a ripe tomato as I bury my head in my girlfriend's shoulders while my friends laugh at me to their hearts' content.

"Should I be jealous, Harry? Do you have plans to leave me for a mermaid?" Fleur asks as she pushes me back and looms over me with a wicked grin.

I answer with a similar grin, enjoying the brightness in her eyes as my hands travel up her sides. "I'm sure you can convince me to stay."

"Ugh! You two are disgusting," Balzac complains from across the room, his tone teasing.

Fleur blushes prettily and puts a small distance between us as if to ensure we aren't doing anything untoward while I raise myself on my hands. "Yes, we are the disgusting ones. It's not like I was traumatised after watching you try to devour Dacia for Merlin knows how long."

He shrugs, his grin uncaring. "But, of course. I am sexy; you are a runt."

"More like you are a freaking troll," I shoot back. "And I look like a freaking movie star."

"Bah! Dream on, boy. You, a movie star? Maybe the Ugly in 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.'"

"I'm not!" I cry indignantly, my hand on my chest. "Am I?" I ask with a faux-offended whisper to Fleur.

Fleur just chuckles and shakes her head as rest of my friends laugh.

I really am not ugly.

Right?

 **-HP-**

 **March 20, 1995**  
Ah. Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Sadly, my second best subject. Why sad, you may ask. Transfiguration is my best subject because of my talents and how much I love it. I am the best in charms in my year because I work hard at it, worked hard at it since before I even started Hogwarts, and yet, I am better at DADA than charms without even trying. It shows just how much trouble I get in and out of on a regular basis, I guess.

Those three are actually the only classes I am the best of my year. Somehow, even with my lightened workload, Hermione gets better scores than me on rest of our subjects. And Neville is in a league of his own in Herbology and has the best instincts of our year group when faced with a magical creature.

I think if anyone but Snape was teaching Potions, Neville would rock at that too and complete the Nature's Trifecta. Oh, well.

Either way, three out of ten is great, and I am happy to have the second best student status.

I don't know whether to be happy Remus is teaching Defence now, or to be nervous because three of the last four professors have all tried to hurt me one way or another. Will Remus be the second teacher to abstain from attacking me, or will the supposed 'curse' on the position somehow arrange for him to attack me?

I wouldn't hold it against Remus; not that I think he'd attack me. I think I have a very attackable face.

So, I am excited as I walk to the defence classroom and take my seat at the back of the class with Ron. Hermione and Neville abandon us, choosing to sit at the front instead. Traitors.

I am attending a class other than the odd runes or creatures class for the first time in months, and I'm guessing that's why even my housemates are looking at me puzzled. Maybe I should do a mad cackle to freak them out?

Nah. Today is about Remus. I want to see how he does as a professor and to show my support.

I don't have to wait long to see Remus in action as he walks in a minute after I sat down. "Good afternoon, class." He takes out a book from a drawer of his table and glances over everyone sitting. He smiles when he sees me but otherwise continues what I assume is his routine. "Last week, we started on Protego. Normally, I would like to continue working on that and teach you varieties and just why Protego is considered the best shield charm to know, but I decided to add to your repertoire by teaching you the four main defensive techniques."

"Who can tell me about them?"

Hermione's hand rockets up, followed by Neville's more sedate raise.

"Mr Longbottom."

"Shielding and Dodging. Depending on the situation, either could allow for a stronger defence and a better chance to counter-manoeuvre. If the spell coming at you is too powerful to block with a shield or can pass unaffected, dodging will keep you safe and allow you to cast an offensive spell in the meantime. If your opponent is less powerful than you, you can shield and let them tire themselves out without running the risk of losing your balance. But dodging can be difficult especially if your opponent can chain cast, and shielding works best if you know the kind of spell your opponent uses."

"Take five points, Mr Longbottom, for a good comparative summary. Yes, Protego requires fast reflexes and immense intuition of your attacker. Now, who can tell me about the other two?"

Hermione's hand is the only one to raise this time. "There is physical shields and parrying."

Remus smiles kindly at Hermione's rapid-fire answer and enthusiasm while the rest of the class roll their eyes in sync. There is nothing like exasperation at Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge to bring the crowds together. "Nice and short, Miss Granger. Take two points." Hermione ducks her head a little in embarrassment. "Today, we will try three of the four main techniques to get a feel of their comparative advantages and disadvantages, and we'll see which one works for you best."

He walks to the front of his table and leans back on it, crossing his arms. His words are spoken softly, gently as if he's teaching us not how to defend ourselves but how to paint or some other semi-spiritual subject. "If there any of you considers duelling as a semi-professional or professional career, I suggest you try to learn these methods and come to me or Professor Flitwick for possible training methods so can get better."

He claps suddenly, bringing everyone, including me, out of the spell he put us under with a soft voice. Truly, it is surprising how good he is at controlling the classroom without acting strict, like McGonagall and Snape, or acting hyper-intense, like Flitwick. "Dodging is pretty straightforward in concept but it is difficult against a quicker opponent and on uneven terrains. It requires balance and situational awareness that not many can claim."

His eyes roam the class, making eye contact with everyone but not staying longer than a few seconds on anyone; enough to keep us on our toes and interested but not so much so as to make anyone feel singled out or on stage.

Frankly, Remus acts like he was born to teach.

"Physical shields are long-standing and your best defence against Unforgivables and other spells that cannot be shielded against as far as we know. But it requires a lot of practice and a good understanding of Transfiguration and Conjuration principles. And if you wanted to go really all out on a physical shield, you could charm it to act in a certain way. You could make it so that it lasts long against a magical onslaught or animate it so it could have more range and protect you even as you move. All around, in my opinion, casting physical shields whenever you are able is a good philosophy."

Remus stops talking and scratches his chin in thought before grinning mischievously. "Mr Potter, why don't you come here and help me with a little demonstration?"

I walk over to where he points and ask, "what do you need from me, professor?"

"I will cast simple stinging jinxes at you and I want you to defend yourself in alternating methods."

With a small nod, I take a defensive stand and wait for him to cast. Three small, economic movements allow me to safely dodge the first three jinxes he sends my way but I summon a desk for the next three before banishing the splinters that fall off towards Remus and transfiguring the desk to a large, wooden Roman-shield. As the teacher deals with the splinters, my focus is on charming the desk so it could survive against more powerful attacks.

Dozens of stinging jinxes fly down from Remus' wand but my shield weathers the storm until I banish the desk his way again and conjure dozens of protego shields with a wave of my wand. His next jinx after dodging the shield hits one of my shields before changing direction before the same thing happens again, and again, and a few dozen more times before hitting him in the back after gaining enough speed to confuse him.

Everyone is, understandably, impressed because how quick and precise my movements were; because how fluid and fast my transfiguration was: because of how much focus and mastery my last trick required. I doubt more than a handful of them could replicate any of the feats, let alone all three of them. Maybe Ron and Anthony if they worked hard. Hermione doesn't have the reflexes and fluidity, and Padma doesn't have the Transfiguration skills to achieve all three.

Remus yelps at the pinching sensation at his arse and grins at me before turning to the class once again. "As you can see, all three techniques allow for good defence but has different potential uses. Who can tell me when it is best to dodge an attack instead of employing other two methods and how can you turn an attack against your opponent? Go ahead, Mr Goldstein."

Anthony lowers his hand and takes a breath. "If I wanted to gain the upper hand by attacking, I could dodge my opponent's attack and cast a hex to force him on the defensive."

"Yes, and it allows for a faster counter attack. Mr Potter, please help me with another demonstration." He doesn't wait for me to acknowledge, casting a low powered exploding hex immediately. Without even thinking, I dodge and cast two stunners that he has to shield against.

"As you saw, if you trust your casting speed, you can put your opponent at defence by dodging and attacking simultaneously," he points out. "Are you up for another demonstration, Harry?"

"What do you need me to do?"

"A shielding charm of your choosing. I will cast stinging charms at you again."

I nod, slightly turning my wand to allow me to cast at a moment's notice by keeping the charm at a trigger. Four stinging jinxes fly out of Remus' wand, two seconds pass between the first jinx and the last. Two of the jinxes go few inches wide on each side to stop me from dodging as the other two flies towards my midriff. With barely a thought, a blue hue covers my upper body, stopping the jinxes with a soft puff from each.

Remus doesn't sit idly by as the purpose of this exercise is to show the versatility of a shield and the ease with which they can be cast. A number of jinxes rain down on me, forcing me to manipulate the shield as to cover my whole body but nowhere else. Jinx after jinx is stopped by my shield as I tire of the game and manipulate a small part of the that covers my hand to act as a reflective one and backhand a jinx back to the professor.

He grins at me and stops the easy-to-defend-against jinx with a small shield. "Who can tell me what are the advantages of casting a shielding charm when you'd expend less energy when you dodge and get more protection from a physical shield?" Hermione's hand is, as always, in the air, joined by Ron and Padma this time. "Go ahead, Mr Weasley."

"It is easier and quicker to cast a shielding charm than to transfigure or conjure a solid shield, isn't it? And you could end up on your arse if you lose your balance when you dodge."

"Correct." Remus strolls through the class at a gentle pace, his hands clasped behind his back.

Last year, Sirius was a great teacher; fun, energetic and knowledgeable in the subject. But without a doubt, Remus is the better teacher between the two with his calm and accessible demeanour and easy command of the class.

I think it is time to get rid of the curse on this class.

If only I knew how…

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **March 25, 1995**  
I can't seem to be able to fall a-fucking-sleep.

Tonight is the night before the Earth Challenge and I can't sleep. After tossing and turning in bed for an hour, I throw off the blankets with a yank and plod over to the bathroom to wash my face. A glance at the mirror shows bloodshot eyes and an irritated scar: an all-around tired face, looking older somehow and weary.

Yes, I am weary and nervous, but it has nothing to do with the task ahead. No, I care little about the task. My nine-points lead is safe enough for me to stay ahead no matter how talentless I am in potions, which is likely to be the focus of the task if the rare potions book I found in the bag I took in the previous task, is any clue.

No, it is Tom who is in my head, keeping me awake. This task is the first possible chance for him to strike, whatever his plan may be, and I feel nowhere near ready to face him. Questions and doubts cloud my mind whenever I try to focus on what I should do and what Tom could do.

When my name first came out of the goblet, I had two possible routes to take: face Tom and do my utmost to deliver the most damage I could, or play it safe and stay as far as possible from the bastard with a vengeance.

Now, as I contemplate my immediate future, the only thing I can think of is how good the second option sounds. Because for all my confidence and dedication, all my skills, Tom is on a whole other level. A level that seems unattainable between now and tomorrow. So, it makes sense to postpone our meeting as long as possible, no?

The question is, can I?

Tom had months to plot ways to get to me, and for all our understanding of his game, he has many advantages. We are on the defensive, playing a reactionary game while he sees a near-full picture of the field and what resources each side has. He knows our possible reactions and counter-manoeuvres while we have a limited understanding of his scheme. And what we know, hardly seems enough to see the plot points.

Yes, I am freaking out.

I splash another palmful of water on my face and push myself to my full height, my eyes not leaving my reflection's. "I'll never survive," I whisper, my voice is shaking more than I'd care to admit.

"Nonsense," my reflection disagrees with a cheerful smile. "You are only saying that because no one ever has."

"Talking to your reflection, Harry?" I hear behind me and whirl around to come face to beard with Albus.

A hand on my chest, I wheeze out," You scared me, Sir." The older man merely smiles at me with a shrug. "And he answered back," I say, pointing an accusing finger at my reflection.

"I most certainly did not!" my reflection disagreed, then slaps a hand to his mouth. "Drats!"

"What a delightful enchantment," Albus comments, his eyes shining with interest.

"Yes, Sirius thought I'd enjoy a mirror that always disagrees with me more than a mirror that gives fashion advice."

"Fascinating," he murmurs, eyeing the mirror.

A minute into his silent contemplation of whatever interests him about the mirror, I get enough. "No offence, Sir, but, why are you here?"

"What?" He starts and gives me an over-the-glasses look. "Oh, yes. Come, Harry, walk with this old man to the owlery." He turns around without waiting for an acknowledgement and sets a slow pace out of the room as I scramble to follow after putting on an outer cloak to fend off the cold.

"Sir?" I prod once I catch up to him, walking by his right.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and chuckles at my impatience. "Are you nervous?"

An uneasy chuckle escapes me as I wonder if I am so obvious as to draw Albus to my room. "Nervous? Me? Never. Impossible. I don't get nervous." He squeezes my shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "Scared out of my mind, more like."

"About Tom's possible plans?" he asks as we stroll down the moving stairs, the portraits and paintings in either side waving at us as we pass by. It is a quiet evening, eerily so, and the only sound I hear is grinding of stone underneath me and the quiet whispers between the paintings.

"Yes," I answer without a wait. "I've watched every memory you gave me. I've seen what he's capable of, how powerful he is. It is safe to assume he's twice as powerful as what those memories indicate, and I don't see how I could survive tomorrow if I face him."

"Ah, but you are underestimating yourself, Harry. You are the most resourceful young man I know and I have no doubt, should Tom attempt, you will survive." He sounds so sure.

It must be nice to have so much faith in the future and victory. While I am not pessimistic about the future, I have too many lingering doubts and persistent fears to share his confidence. I have seen what I could be when Twins potioned me and seen what I must be to win against the titan in the memories. And I have realised how much I have to go before either possibility is achievable.

I am better than my peers, even those older than me by a few years, yet compared the likes of Sirius, Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick, I am but a child still. So I know; compared the likes of Albus and Tom, I don't even rate on the same scale. Oh, I can win a duel or two against Sirius and Snape, and I can even put Flitwick on a back foot long enough for victory to be seen achievable, but even those accomplishments don't seem real enough to have any real bearing in a life and death situation where experience carries more weight than anything else.

"No offence, Sir, but that's laughable optimistic," I say with a chuckle. "Tom's casting speed is phenomenal and the magic he wields is awesome. He's chillingly more experienced than I am. And like those weren't frightening enough, he will have the advantage of controlling the plot and superior numbers. Only luck and a few miracles can save me, and I've been incredibly lucky so far. Even luck could favour me so far."

The Headmaster stays silent for a long time, making me wonder if he's done with the conversation as we navigate through the castle, corridors acting as a labyrinth and we as mice for a game Hogwarts likes to play. The castle is truly an entity - though I am clueless as to if it's sentient or not. It has an aura of divinity that humbles those who walk its corridors, an aura of power and security that soothes those who sleep under its roof.

But Tom won't meet me in Hogwarts. He lost me twice here. No, he'll take me away from the protection of the castle and have the home advantage, and it feels daunting to consider facing him without the assurance only Hogwarts can give me. I really don't have a name for the effect Hogwarts has on me.

Even death feels warmer in Hogwarts as I realised two years ago before I realised Hogwarts somehow helps all its children. After all, even Albus said so, 'Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.'

Perhaps I should ask Hogwarts to kill Tom? Nah, that wouldn't work. Would it?

"I think you and I should have a duel, Harry." The sudden offer startles me for a moment before I can process his words.

"Why?" is all I can ask, surprised by the offer. Not only because as my headmaster he's ethically obliged to keep some distance from me to maintain impartiality but also because I seriously doubt I could even cause an inconvenience to the man in a duel. What could I possibly learn if he can defeat me under ten seconds?

He smiles down at me, making me feel like a child. "Because I have a feeling you are further along in your education than you think, and I'd like to see that for myself and remind you I don't raise a fool."

"I'm confused. Did you insult me or compliment me?"

"A little bit of both," he confesses as we step out into chilly spring night on our way to the owlery. He stops me midway to our goal and leans over the railing. "You assume to win in a duel, you need knowledge, experience and speed. If that's the case, how is it that the only people to have a decisive win against Voldemort are your mother, a witch barely out of school, and you, a wizard still in school?"

"I was lucky, and he underestimated me," I argue as I join him on the railing, casting my eyes to the still-snowy mountain peaks around the school and the dark forest surrounding the castle.

"That's true, but more importantly, you were smart enough to find a solution under extreme duress. You proved that when you saved two people even as you were on the verge of dying of blood loss. And when you destroyed Tom's shade while suffering the effects of basilisk venom." He puts a hand on my shoulder, making me turn to him. "I agreed with Sirius' decision to train you in magical combat not because I think you can surpass Tom with a year or two worth of training, but because I want you to have more tools to find a solution out of any situation you may find yourself in."

He gives me a small smile. "Remember, he wants to kill you or recruit you. You just want to stay alive. He will have many hoops to go through to get you in position while all you will need to do is escape. You don't have to beat him. You don't have to hurt him. Just… escape. I think that's within your power thanks to two of your father's gifts."

I let out a huff of irritation at how simplistic he's being but can't stop a small smile from showing. "Yes. Yes. Put on the Cloak of Invisibility, turn into a bird and wing away from the danger."

"Smart boy," he praises with a smile and a pat on the cheek, knowing it would irritate me.

I fight against my natural instincts and keep a pleasant smile on my face. "So, why are we here, Grandpa? Wanted a little adventure, climbing all those stairs?"

"I'll show you what this grandpa can do after the task tomorrow," Albus chuckles, his eyes twinkling away like a pair of Christmas lights.

"Any insights you'd like to share about the task?" I prod, knowing Albus wouldn't say a word.

His eyes turn into full-on blinking lights as his smile turns devilish. "No, but that reminds me, recent intelligence suggests Tom doesn't plan anything for tomorrow."

I close my eyes and count to ten before opening them with a glare aimed at the obnoxious man next to me. "Next time, start with that one instead of making me wallow in my nervous breakdown."

"Where is the fun in that?"

I glare at the man for a long moment while he smiles merrily before but of us collapse into laughter. "Merlin, I missed talking with you."

Albus' smile softens but stays mischievous. "Please, dear boy, call me Albus. No need to invoke ancient legends."

"You are an ancient legend," I point out without shame and with a similar smile.

"Bah! I have decades in me yet," he refuses, pushing me towards the owlery though his hand stays on my shoulder as we walk, a boy and his grandfather.

I really missed this.

 **-HP-**

 **March 26, 1995**  
Adults are funny.

I know I sound like a seven-year-old when I say that, but it's true. The Earth Challenge is a pretty straightforward task that tests a variety of skills from potion-making to herbology and care of magical creatures, from navigating through unknown lands in order to find ingredients to ingredient preparation and survival in the wild. Honestly, the idea has a lot of merits and this is the first task to actually test a champion across many disciplines.

The task is to drink a slow acting poison or another detrimental potion, figure out an antidote, find the ingredients and brew a cure. Yes, yes, I suck at potions and am no better in herbology so I don't expect to get good points in this task.

And I know you are dying to know why I think adults are funny. Well, did you know by law, any potion that affects the mind, either detrimentally or beneficially, can only be prescribed by a licensed medical official and never without a just cause?

Not only they are immensely complicated to brew,- you know what? Just consider any magic that affects the mind complicated to perform- they all use one of two ingredients without exception: coca leaves and poppy seed milk. For those of you who don't know, coca leaves, when processed into white powder, create a lovely Class A drug called cocaine. And poppy seed milk is used heavily in a family of Class A drugs known as opiates.

Three guesses on what the potion I just now drunk does.

Here are a few clues: colours around me are more vibrant, swirling in random motions as I try to focus on just what the hell is going on. Honestly, it isn't difficult to understand my mind is affected by the potion but even that thought flies off- not before flipping me off, of course- leaving me grinning like a loony and staring at my hand like...

I wonder why we have five fingers? Why not four or six? Hell, why not ten so we can grip two things with one hand and have an easier time carrying things? I mean, who amongst us hasn't cursed his lack of additional extremity? When carrying more than two bottles, for example?

Well, I didn't but that's because I can do wandless magic, but that's not the point.

Speaking of bottles, why do some types of poisons are considered fun while the others disgusting? Alcohol is a poison, yet we drink it as a pastime activity while I haven't heard anyone toast with poisonous berries or belladonna. Now, that's an idea: 'here's to a psychedelic death.'

A blast sounds from somewhere behind me and I whirl around to clap for the champions. They work so hard, the poor things, and get so little in return. I know for a fact that neither schools' students are satisfied with their champions' efforts, and I can't tell how many times I heard people claiming they could have performed better.

Well, that begs the question of why the goblet didn't choose them? I asked that very question once and all I got were weak excuses and rude gestures. I think people don't like to face reality, preferring to immerse themselves in their delusions. Then again, isn't that always the case with people? We are bitter, hurtful and judgemental creatures who enjoy belittling others without a second thought just so we could feel slightly better about ourselves.

Speaking of feeling better, for the last month, I have been on cloud nine, feeling happier and more content than I have ever felt in my short life; and I have Fleur to thank for that. I don't know what it is about her that makes me feel so good but whatever it is, I am grateful for its existence. How is it that the smallest of smiles by her can make me feel all-powerful?

Fleur. Oh, Fleur. Watching her has become a favourite pastime activity of mine, right after kissing her. Especially when she's doing something she's passionate about like playing music or competing in a deadly tournament or fooling around with her sister.

Gabrielle has become another bright spot in my life with her musical laughter and childish wonder at everything around her. As a boy who always wanted a sibling, she has become an honorary sister to me and I love it. I love spoiling her and making her laugh and reading her stories. And frankly, her innocent perspective on things offers a refreshing change from my cynical one.

She's like a bright sun in my life, shining a light on my fears and allowing me to grow.

Sun is exceptionally bright today for a Scottish spring day, clouds blocking it sparingly and causing sudden chills that excite my nerves. And clouds! Oh, how lovely they look today, all puffy and incorporeal; changing from a smiling dog to a smirking devil in-between blinks, allowing my imagination to run wild with possibilities.

The devil winks at me, pointing at the forest, egging me on. Well, fine then! I accept your challenge, Mr Lucifer Morningstar.

Christian theology is an interesting one. Honestly, every theology is interesting but as both countries I live in are predominantly Christian, I have been exposed to elements from that particular religion more often.

While it depends on the particular set of beliefs, Lucifer has always been described as a favourite son of god. Well, except Christ, of course. And isn't that a sad story? The devil is basically the older brother, jealous of the attention his youngest sibling receives from his father. Does the blame lie with the child when he overreacts just to get his father's attention? Or is it the father's fault for not explaining his love for both children? Does father love all his children equally? Or is Lucy right with his claims of favouritism, no matter how hypocritical?

I always did find how human every theology and mythology is in essence, a wonderful thing.

Oh, yeah. I'm always up for singing some Sympathy for the Devil as I stroll through a dangerous forest. Let me conjure a red hood so you can call me 'little red riding hood.' Now, let's go bust some werewolf guts.

A random amount of time later, I ran across a forest troll in all his green glory. And by green glory, I mean he doesn't have the decency to wear a loincloth, landing a huge blow to my ego without even trying. The bastard.

Well, now, just because he is inconsiderate of my fragile masculinity, doesn't mean I have to be rude so I think introducing myself is in order. "Please, allow me to introduce myself; I'm a man of wealth and taste."

He eyes me like I'm a tasty piece of meat and grunts.

Well, that's just rude. Who does he think he is to dismiss me like that? Doesn't he know who I am?

Apparently, he doesn't because he sees no wrong in swinging the large branch he carries and striking the ground I was occupying not a moment ago, causing dirt to fly off in every which direction. Perhaps he doesn't realise he's the third troll I've faced so far. I should save him from his ignorance. "I've been around for long, long years; stole many a troll's soul and faith."

He tries his luck with his branch again, swiping right this time, aiming to sweep me off my feet.

Why, I'm honoured, Mr Troll, but I have a girlfriend!

A wave of my wand turns his branch into a bouquet, surprising the troll as the stupid creature enough to make him lose his balance and land on his arse. His surprise does not last long as he decides the flowers I was generous enough to gift him looks tasty and eats them. I hope, for his sake, my transfiguration holds otherwise, he'll have a hard time shitting. Yikes!

The troll isn't much of a conversationalist and is quite boring so I think I should dispose of him. Any bright ideas? Well, I don't want to actually hurt the creature so I should just knock him out, right? How to accomplish that? There is always good old blunt force trauma but that's so 91'. I want to try something new and excited, not relive the glory old days. To stun him with a charm or a hex, I'd need to hit him somewhere unprotected and with the way my vision swirls whenever I try to concentrate on one spot, that doesn't sound plausible. Besides, with his low level of brain functions, it might actually hurt the poor thing.

A sleeping agent then? Hm.

A loud snoring sound has me give an incredulous glare at the sleeping troll, feeling oddly offended by such a nonchalant behaviour against an apex predator like me. He should be shaking in his fur with fear, not sleeping!

Oh, who am I kidding? He looks adorable with the drool hanging off his mouth, refusing to bow to the gravity, and his light green fur. A giant teddy bear, he is. Well, he looks more like a giant Grinch but cute nonetheless.

I shrug and skip off further into the forest, whistling a jaunty tune and freaking out animals all around me. As I walk, I consider my predicament. I have enough presence of mind to realise the concoction I drank has jeopardised my thought process and while my skill in occlumency is improving by leaps and bounds, fighting the external influence is difficult as my willingness to drink it works against my desire to fight its effects.

Magic is funky like that.

I need a cure because… Well, I'm sure there are reasons to want such a thing but mainly, the idea of a thought impairment is freaking me out and I know there is a reason for that. I just have a hard time remembering what that reason was.

Okay, Blatter, think!

Well, first of all, Blatter, really?

It's a combination of Black and Potter. I thought it was genius.

It's not.

Let's see you find a better nickname for us then?

There is always Mr Tweety.

Oh, right. Mr Tweety, think!

Okay, we are up against an unknown poison and like most poisons, it is somewhat poisonous. What are the easiest ways to fight a poison?

Not drinking it?

We'll try that next time. Now, focus! What are the easiest ways to fight a poison?

Oh, child, things are gonna get easier. Oh, child, things'll get brighter.

What? How does that help?

How does anything help?

What?

Who?

Sigh. Were you singing a song?

Eh. No?

You were!

But-

Just focus, you dunderheaded moron!

Heh, you sound like Snivellus.

Yes, Snape. What did Snape say about poisons?

That they are bad?

Ugh. You are a moron.

Hey! I'm you. If I am a moron that means you are a moron as well.

Do you want to die?

Why? Are you planning to kill me?

Hey, guys! Can you two stop bickering like Hermione and Ron and focus on the most pressing issue?

And what issue is that?!

Hey, now. No need to gang up on me. I was talking about how long it has been since we last pulled a nice little prank on Snape.

I AM SURROUNDED BY MORONS!

You don't exist. How can you be surrounded by anything?

Now, that's a prank idea: make Snape not exist.

You mean kill him?

No, like… Oh. Never mind.

"Greetings, Harry Potter."

My head snaps towards the voice with enough force to add intense vertigo to my list of complaints but seeing the blurry shape of a horse, I concur I am talking to either a hippogriff or a gryffin. There no other options. "Hello, there. Who are you?"

The horse-like creature tilts his head and stomps closer to me. "Firenze."

I scratch my head, trying to make sense of things. "Oh. I didn't know cities could become animagi."

"What?"

We stare at each other, I in bewilderment and he with swirly blues that turn and turn and turn and turn without a stop, making me dizzy. In a cartoonish manner, I realise the truth. "You mean you are Firenze the Centaur!"

The centaur snorts, the blue colour bobbing up and down. "Indeed. You know how dangerous it is for you to wander into our territory with my kin's dislike of your kind and you in particular."

"They don't like me?" I ask, unable to fight a pout from forming on my face. "How come?" The friendly centaur doesn't answer or move as I wait for an answer for a long time. "Well, I don't like them either then."

"I'll be sure to lend them a shoulder to cry on," he says dryly. "Why aren't you working on your task?"

"Task? What task?"

The centaur suddenly leaps into motion, crossing the distance - I can't even attempt to calculate how far - quickly. "Are you ill, child?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm pretty good. I feel like I'm flying and the gravity is an annoyance of the past, not worth my consideration now."

He opens his mouth but I suddenly have the brightest idea about how I can fight the poison's effects: bezoar! A summoning charm leaves my wand with nary a thought, surprising Firenze back a few steps as he watches me curiously. For a few minutes, nothing happens until a chorus of bleating reaches my ears. And yes, I said a chorus because, in my excitement at finding a possible cure, I cast a very loose spell that summoned more than a dozen goats that now surround us like an avenging army.

My eyes narrow and find on one of the goats as I raise my wand to do what's necessary to get the stone in its stomach. My target turns to me and begs for mercy, "Baa!"

I can't help it. He just looks so cute with his little beard and bright blue eyes; he reminds me of Albus. "Fine, you cute little bastard. You and your friends can live." I conjure leashes for all the goats and spend the next twenty minutes running after the fluffy creatures with wicked sharp horns while Firenze laughs at my antics. "If you would stop laughing and help me, I'd appreciate it, Firenze!"

Firenze just laughs harder.

But his laughter turns to a warning cry, making me whirl around to see a small army of giant spiders coming at my direction at an astonishing speed. Fucking acromantula! I hate these bloodthirsty creatures and have no compunction against hurting them. Proving my dislike is easy after spending the most of the year training my reflexes in combat situations, and countless, albeit weak and random, hexes and curses leave my wand.

The results of my attack are… different than one would expect: a dozen of acromantulas turn into plush of various colours while various invisible musical instruments one would usually find in a parade, starts playing with no pattern or sense, large chunks of earth fly around, hitting trees. Still, my attack pays off, making the small army of arachnoids freak out and run in random directions.

Firenze and I watch, fascinated, as they run head-first into each other, into trees, into rocks and continue to run without stopping. It is an illogical and totally unexpected reaction as acromantula have no known trouble with loud noises. There must be another reason for their reaction but for the life of me, I can't figure it out as my new friends steal my focus by running around me, tying me with the leashes I put on them.

I don't know how long the craziness goes on but hearing Firenze snicker at me brings me out of my shock and makes me realise just how tight and restricting my silky prison is becoming. I huff and yank my right hand every which way to give me enough room before casting an untying charm.

"Thank you for your invaluable help, Firenze," I grouse as I try to calm down my frantic friends, countless spiders still running around us with no sense to their actions. "I don't know what I would do if not for your assistance, really," I add just before goats attempt an uprising by yanking me in a single direction with a collective pull, bringing me to my knees. Firenze pauses and looks around before falling victim to his laughter again, pointing an accusing finger at me.

With a conjured stake buried deep into the ground to keep my new Albus-look-alike friends in check, I stand up and dust the dirt off me before joining Firenze in his enjoyment of the Acromantula circus. I still have no idea what set them off or how I could replicate such a feat again. After a few minutes of pointless guessing, I cancel my spells, turning the plush spiders back to normal and stopping the unorganised mess of sounds that is in no shape or form can be called music.

As soon as the magic dissipates, the large spiders run off like a basilisk is on their tail, not even attempting to look back. "So, that just happened," I say into the silence when Firenze's laughter stops.

My four-legged-and-two-armed friend sighs and nods. "The eight-legs never venture this far into our territory."

"Why do you think they decided to visit now?"

He shakes his head, his mane whipping around. "That's a question you should ask yourself, young Potter."

"I'll be sure to do that as soon as I finish what I came here for…" I trail off, scratching my head in an attempt to jolt my memory. Why am I here?

"The task?"

"Oh, right. I wonder how the champions are doing. It's a shame I missed out on watching them… I can't seem to remember why though? Why would I come to forest instead of watching the task like everyone else is doing?"

Firenze opens his mouth but I don't let him speak as the memory returns to me. "Right! The devil challenged me."

The centaur sighs, yet again, making me wonder if I'm boring him. "Perhaps you should return to your people."

I huff, offended. "Maybe I should, seeing as you are bored of me."

A half hour trek and a cure administered by Poppy later, I let out a groan as I relive the task, wondering how long it will take for me to live this one down.

"Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure Aberforth isn't mad at you for stealing his goats," Poppy says, a wicked smirk on her lips. "Not at all. He's not one to hold a grudge." She leaves the tent after one last chuckle, leaving me wondering just how angry Aberforth really is.

I did steal younger Dumbledore's goats but in my defence, I wasn't in my right mind and I didn't even hurt the cute little bastards. I hope he gives me a chance to explain myself before whatever clever punishment he comes up with. I really don't need a vengeful Dumbledore on my tail.

The tent flap opens and Fleur walks in with dirt-covered clothes, her face white and sweaty. I would worry if not for the small, pleased smile on her face. Her smile widens when she sees me, walking to where I'm lying with uneasy steps, barely able to keep her balance until she sprawls next to me on the small bed. "I can't believe you finished before me," she complains, her voice tired and spent though not at all displeased with my perceived accomplishment.

"I didn't, actually," I correct her. "I failed the task quite spectacularly. Aimee is the only one to finish ahead of you."

She raises her head to rest her chin on my shoulder, "What do you mean you failed?"

I shrug, careful not to jostle her much. "They gave me a psychedelic concoction that melted my brain. I remember Lucifer giving me the finger, a troll trying to bed me and an army of spiders dancing while a number of goats tied me up for a sacrifice."

She giggles before a yawn escapes her. "You sound like you at least had some fun."

"What was your poison?"

"I'm not sure," she answers with a sleepy shrug as she buries her head on my shoulder. "But whatever it was made my body feel like a ton. I'm still surprised I even managed to walk more than a few steps, let alone complete the task."

"Hey, now. Don't fall asleep on me," I say, nudging her awake when she drifts off and her breathing evens out. "You still need to get checked by Poppy."

"Surprisingly, you are correct, Mr Potter," Poppy says as she walks into the tent in an eerily timely manner. "I guess there is a first time for everything."

I occupy myself with tidying Fleur's hair, my movements more jarring than necessary to keep her awake. "Geez, Louise, stop trying to become a comedian. It's not happening."

"Seeing as you managed to make nursing a nightmare for me, I think you don't get a say in my potential occupation," the matron argues, walking over to the Fleur's side of the bed before drawing her wand. After a few diagnostic charms, she nods, pleased with the results before taking out a vial of potion from one of her many pockets.

I give into my curiosity as Poppy tilts Fleur's head to help her drink the rejuvenation potion. "Just how many pockets do you have and how big are your pockets? There is no way you can carry all those potions around with you all the time."

Poppy straightens up once Fleur seems responsive to the potion, blinking owlishly as she sits up. "Each of my pockets is connected to a different subspace in the infirmary's stores with a trigger for summoning charms worked into the pocket."

"Huh. How often do you have to recast the enchantments?"

Poppy walks to an armchair and sits before giving me an appreciative but indulging smile. "Every month or so, depending on how often I have to restock the stores."

Fleur, now awake and always interested in enchantment related subjects, chooses to join our conversation. "Because of the Krugen effect?"

Poppy nods. "Indeed. I haven't been able to find a way to tie the spatial enchantments to anything but the vials, and whenever I use the integrated summoning charm and indexing field, it causes degradation in the spatial enchantments."

"Have you read about Markus' law of three chains?" My brilliant bed-mate asks, changing positions to sit with her legs crossed under her. "When you use the summoning enchantment, it triggers a change in the indexing field, and by casting the spatial enchantments depended on the indexes instead of specific vials, they will stay stable even with the anchor change."

The matron tilts her head in consideration and a bit of confusion. "Are there any books you can suggest? I get the basics but I want to know what I'm doing exactly before trying anything."

Fleur considers only about five seconds before answering. "Laws of Three and How It Applies to Enchantments by Eleonore Markus. It's has a detailed chapter on the concept and some known examples of applications in modern enchantments."

I make a note of asking Fleur to explain some of these concepts to better at a later time. While my interest in enchantments took a backstage lately, I haven't given up on learning more. And perhaps it could be a nice way for Fleur and me to spend time together. I'd get to learn about interesting magic, watch Fleur as she shares her passion with me and most importantly, I am very curious about what her style of discipline would be. Would she spank me if I am naughty?

Oh, yes. This idea has some merits.

Hmm. Perhaps I can teach her how to be an animagus? Can veela even be an animagus, or is the 'avian-form' rumour is true?

Man, it's awesome being in a relationship. No matter how intimately I know her, I am often surprised by the things I don't know about her. I recently found out she only eats bouillabaisse and no other seafood, and by Merlin, she loves that. It's an odd little quirk and you can't imagine her joy whenever the house-elf serve the food.

Then there is this thing she does with ice that…

Well, never mind. It's not fit for polite company.

 **-HP-**

"I must say, I was surprised to learn you were dating my daughter, Mr Potter."

I tilt my head a little and acknowledge his surprise. Frankly, ours is an odd relationship with the difference in age and character. "I've always been a bit of an overachiever."

"And humble too," Sebastian Delacour jokes with a small smile that reminds me of Aunt Minerva. Truth be told, the man across me reminds me of the strict Transfiguration Mistress in many ways: from his posture to his reactions. I like that. He's sitting with a straight back, his intertwined hands resting on his crossed legs.

"That's a lesson for the old men, Sir. I am not _that_ overachiever," I shoot back, grinning.

"Speaking of overachieving," the blonde man begins, giving his older daughter a wink. "Do you also consider your… _unique_ performance today an overachievement?"

Fleur gives me a challenging smile, egging me on to give a cocky response. Well, so be it. "I'd like to think I gave my competitor's false hope of winning. If I performed as well as I had performed in first two tasks, the point difference would have made the final task boring."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night," Fleur quips from next to me, oddly relaxed in front of his father. "I wish I could have watched this new dance method you discovered today. What do you call it? The 'Tied-up Monkey?'"

"I thought it was funny," Gabrielle peeps in, giving me a wide smile.

I grin at my small ally and nod. "See. Gabrielle knows talent when she sees it."

"I said funny, not _good_ ," my ally betrays me, wrinkling her nose. "You looked silly."

"I'll take silly," I answer sagely, ignoring the snickers of two girls, pointedly looking away from Papa Delacour.

"I'm curious how your publicist will spin this one," Mr Delacour comments off-handedly, staying oddly polite for the implication.

"I honestly don't care," I answer without preamble. "Rita is a schemer. I know she'll change her tune when it gets more lucrative, I have no delusions about that. But for the moment, especially considering what the future holds, I'd rather have her as a reluctant ally than an enemy."

Mr Delacour turns serious, and I have to say, it is impressing how he can change the mood with almost imperceivable movements. He's still sitting with his legs crossed, but now, slightly leaning forward. "Ah, yes. I wonder if you can enlighten me about this trouble you hinted at in our previous meeting."

I chuckle nervously and take a sip of beer and look around in Three Broomsticks as I consider what I can say. Truly, this is a conversation Albus should lead, not me. Mr Delacour can be an invaluable ally in the upcoming conflict or a troublesome hindrance, and I have no idea how to gain his support without giving away too much information that could complicate things. "Right, _that_ ," I sigh and sit up straighter, leaning over the table slightly and when I talk, my voice is lower but serious. "Frankly, I don't know how much I could tell you without Albus' approval. Trouble is coming and trust comes harder because of that."

The man gives me a small nod, acknowledging my words. "But if you are as well informed as your behaviour indicates, whatever this trouble is, it must involve you. I don't believe Albus Dumbledore would burden you with such a knowledge needlessly."

"There is truth to that. Albus is a secretive man, more so than probably any of us thinks, and you are right in that if it didn't involve me personally at a such a large degree, he wouldn't risk his plans by telling a teenager."

The man sighs and scratches his chin that has no sign of a beard, not even stubble, before throwing a pointed look at his daughter. "I assume my daughter has some idea about what you think is coming, otherwise she wouldn't be so tense right now."

Indeed, Fleur is tense. Her back is ramrod straight and trying to stay out of focus, as out of character as that sounds. She looks up from her wine glass when Mr Delacour says her name, taking a deep breath.

"She does, and before you assume wrong, I would never ask her to put a strain on her relationship by keeping a secret from you," I say, giving Fleur a soft look. "And don't misunderstand me, I think you should know more. You could be an important ally, and even if you don't work with us, the knowledge could potentially save lives and I think that's more important than anything else. I discussed this with Albus and as far as I know, he is receptive to the idea."

The man gives me half a smile but his demeanour doesn't change. "That's certainly good to hear but not really what concerns me in the short-term. I am a lawman but my duty to my country comes second to my duty to my children. No, what I want to know, Mr Potter, is how much danger my daughter is in? By being in this tournament and by being involved with you."

Oh, Morgana be damned. Why does it feel like everyone is against my relationship with Fleur? "I doubt she's in any added danger for being in the tournament. Whatever the plot is with my selection, it is aimed at me and me alone."

"But you can't say the same about her involvement with you," Mr Delacour says, hearing the words I didn't say. "So, can you honestly expect me to approve your relationship?" he asks, to both of us this time. "No offence, Mr Potter, but you are a trouble magnet. You have been attacked personally two times in the last two months."

"Three times," I correct reflexively. "It's a bit too curious for my tastes that I was given a potion that played with my mind when _all_ the other champions received potions that affected their bodies," I explain when he looks at me inquisitively before straightening up and looking the man in the eye. "But that's beside the point. With all due respect, Sir, your approval has no bearing in my relationship with Fleur. I want your approval, yes, not only because you are Fleur's father but I also respect you, as little as I know you. Even so, I can live with your disapproval as long as Fleur doesn't think it is a deal breaker."

The Statesman stays silent, measuring me with curious eyes. It is Fleur who breaks the silence, even Gabrielle knowing not to interrupt the moment. "I'd like to hope you'll be supportive of _my_ decisions and _my_ relationship, Father, instead of making me choose between the boy I love and the father I adore."

Sebastian Delacour honestly surprises me, chuckling and raising his hand in a calming motion. "I didn't _say_ I disapproved. I asked why Mr Potter thinks I should approve." He smiles at his elder daughter before giving me a pointed look. "I'd like to think I am smart enough to know not to incur my daughter's ire."

I grin at the man, then at her daughter. "I think she looks cute when she's irritated." When Fleur glares, I nod at her and turn to her father. "See, doesn't she look adorable."

"She looks like she did when I drew on her parchment rolls," Gabrielle says, gulping when her sister's glare turns to her. "Sister Danger," she squeaks.

"She had the same look before our first duel," I supply. "It was quite entertaining to earn that look."

"Did my daughter win her duel, perchance?" Mr Delacour asks with only a small twitch of his lips. His control is impressive.

I make a zipping motion over my lips, giving my girlfriend an innocent smile.

"I. Lost," Fleur grits out when her father turns to her with a mockingly raised eyebrow.

"Tut, tut, tut. How am I going to show my face at the office now?" the man complains, with a slight whine to his voice.

Fleur takes a deep breath and smiles serenely at her father, the calmness on her face a threatening prospect. "I'll not repeat my mistake, Father dear. Would you like to test my newfound dedication?"

Mr Delacour considers for a moment before nodding though with less levity. "Indeed, I would. I have never seen you duel and I'd like to."

That's an opportunity I can't miss, especially as Albus will also join our next session. "Why don't you stay the night here, in Britain, and join us tomorrow?" I offer enthusiastically. "You'll get to see what Professor Flitwick is teaching us, watch me duel Dumbledore, duel your daughter, and perhaps have a little conversation with the old man with the beard."

He's silent for a long moment, probably considering the advantages of doing so, but he agrees with a nod. "I'll take you up on your offer."

I think- and I say this as I knock on wood- this dinner has been a success, unlike the one with Fleur's other parent.


	11. Episode X

**Part I: Difficult Lessons**

 **March 27, 1995**

"Are we sure this won't break the tournament rules?" Remus asks for the third time, earning an eye roll from me and a smile from Albus.

It is Albus who deigns to allay the man's worries while grinning at me behind his beard. Don't ask me how I can tell it is a mocking grin. After thirteen years, I learnt how to read his beard movements. "I'm sure Harry's upcoming humiliation at an old man's wand wouldn't count as cheating. Don't you agree, Harry?"

The snickers coming from the other side of the room where Sirius and Flitwick are having a quiet conversation with Mr Delacour and Fleur is easy to ignore by turning my back to them. "I'll refer to your decades and decades and decades and many more decades of expertise, Sir. I just hope your heart can still handle the excitement."

"Good, because I think he deserves a good arse kicking," Remus tells Albus, ignoring me as he joins the amused group at the stands surrounding the platform in the auditorium.

"He's bitter because he's having a hard time doing so lately," I stage whisper to Albus from behind my hand.

"I'm sure," Albus drawls before drawing his wand and nodding at me. "Go ahead, Harry."

I accept his offer of firing the first spell and start with a charm of my own, causing a wave of paint to fly at the older man, hoping to blind him. Said older man answers with a powerful banishing charm that slows the wave enough for him to manipulate the paint into a large ball that hovers a few feet off the ground.

Of course, I'm not foolish enough to wait for Albus so I use the time to transfigure a desk into a large shield and cast protection spells on it, a move that is becoming a usual for me since I first used in my first duel against Fleur. One different thing I do is allowing the shield to hover a foot above me, out of the line of fire for now but ready to intercept any spells in case I get overwhelmed.

Albus' first offensive move is to send the ball of paint in my direction at an astonishing speed, accompanied by two disarming charms on both sides. A shielding charm protects me from the paint as the disarming charms whip past my ears, and as soon as the paint hits, I rapid-fire two consecutive stunners and summon another desk from behind me before throwing myself on the ground and rolling over a few feet.

It's a good thing I do because, by the time I stand, the desk is reduced to splinters that shoot down on where I stood thanks to an expertly manipulated banishment charm.

My admiration of the magic almost costs me; a hex missing my head by an inch; the smell of burnt hair is enough to tell me how close I came to losing the duel. I take the message to heart and cast a strong shield just in time to stop a body bind in its tracks, followed by a stunner, a cutting hex and a full-body bind, each spell letting out thumping sounds as they hit the shields I conjure. With each spell, my shields waver, barely holding on against the onslaught as Albus keeps casting at full burn with a spell leaving his wand every two seconds.

Okay, Potter, think! What can you do against someone whose spell-casting is as fast as Flitwick's spells themselves flying twice as fast and with the power to put down three men? Illusions and other visual magic never work against Albus, not even my best ones, so that's out of the question. Direct hexes and curses don't even faze the man, and he is a master of Transfiguration who could undo any transfiguration I cast with nary a thought. Then what?

I know acting without a plan wouldn't get me anywhere but Albus' continued assault on my shield makes it hard to concentrate and forces me to cast shield after shield, especially when he adds flavour to his attack with conjured dogs. With my defence wavering, I bend under a blasting hex and slash at one of the cute puppies with a whip of fire before using the whip as a lasso to throw the animal back at its creator. Two blasting curses take care of the other two before I conjure a dozen birds to join the burnt puppy to his destination.

Albus grins and relaxes his shoulders, his wand held loose in his hand, parallel to his body. When the animals reach a few feet of him, he makes an overhead spiralling motion with his wand before bringing the wand down in an overstated slash, causing a dome of ice to materialise in front of him, trapping all the animals with ice. A flick of his wand vanishes most of the ice, leaving only the animals behind, all of them buried in cubes of ice.

I blink in surprise at the rapid approach of large ice-cubes. With nary a thought, my shield lands in front of me and I barricade myself behind it after casting a magnification charm to ensure bigger cover. The cold coffins hit my shield with enough velocity to drive it a foot back and me with it, but the shield stays strong, allowing me to charge a few spells in relative safety.

With the thirteenth gong of my shield—that's the number of frozen animals—I raise it a few feet and cast seven pre-charged spells: a modified sensory charm to put my opponent off-balance; a wide area stunner that would, perchance, daze him; three blasting hexes around him to keep in pinned down; a pressure spell has everything in its path flying wildly; and an overcharged stunner. All in all, a spread of spells that would put any dueller in defensive.

Not surprisingly when one is against a man of his power, as soon as I open the way by lifting my shield, Albus smirks and his wand turns to a blur; I do the logical thing and the moment the last spell leave my wand: I jump to my left with no care to where I would land, casting a shie-

I sit up groggily, wondering why I am lying on the ground before the last few minutes rush back and I groan. "It's so unfair." I look up to see Albus smiling down at me, looking pleased with himself. "Did you even stumble, at least?"

"What?" he asks in a high volume, though not high enough to be convincing. His twinkling eyes prove my theory that my impressive offensive set didn't even faze him, further. "I seem to have lost my hearing in my old age."

"Must be the rotting brain cells," I mumble under my breath and rise to my feet, walking past Albus and giving him the cold shoulder. "I guess that's that. Why don't you stop laughing, Fleur, so we can see if you'll do any better against your father?" I grumble once I get close enough to the stands to hear the laughter at my expense.

She gives me a smile and when I reach her side, a kiss on the cheek. "You did well."

"Yes, quite the performance, Mr Potter," Flitwick agrees, his head bobbing up and down. "Your shield was even more impressive than the last time and you had a good plan with your prepared set."

I throw myself to a chair and accept the water bottle Sirius offers me with an appreciative nod before smiling at the diminutive man. "Thank you, Professor, but that it didn't work proves it wasn't a good plan."

"It's Dumbledore, Kiddo." Sirius throws an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. "He always has a better plan."

"Stupid Grandmaster and his stupid plans," I mumble petulantly and take a sip of water to cool off. Honestly, I wasn't expecting a victory, I'm not that arrogant, but I hoped I could at least make him sweat before losing.

I look up to find Mr Delacour looking at me weirdly before he shakes himself out of whatever he was thinking and nods at me. "Your teacher is right, Mr Potter. Don't let your defeat dishearten you."

"Thank you, Sir."

Silence descends but before long, Albus breaks it as he strolls near the group, his words making me wonder how he could have heard us past the silencing charm still in effect, "I have to agree with Filius: your final spread was good. Your only mistake was rushing to attack without a strategy." Albus looks at me over his glasses, a gentle smile on his face as he plays with his beard. "Even your bursts of brilliance won't help against a man with my experience."

"Yes, yes. I know," I grouse and continue in my best imitation of Albus, "Without a set goal, your victories will never last." I put on an innocent smile as Sirius snickers next to me. "The thing is, in a duel, the goal is to win. To put your opponent down for the count. We both know it is out of the realm of possibilities for now, if not forever, against you. What goal could I have when defeat is certain?"

Albus clasps his hands behind his back and gives me his patented over-the-glasses look. "It's like Muggles say: Rome wasn't built in a day," he says, as vague and puzzling as ever.

"While I'm sure that's a good advise," I say irritably, "I don't see how it helps me."

Thankfully, Flitwick comes to my aid, only after snickering at the confusion and irritation that must be obvious on my face. "I think what Albus is hinting at is, you need to be patient when you fight against someone better than you. Don't just try to rush into the end. Analyse your opponent's strengths and weaknesses and establish achievable objectives that will wear down your opponent and put you in a position to win."

I sigh and nod at the small man before grinning at the girl sitting on the armrest of my chair. "I'll do that but for now, I want to see if Fleur can do what I can't and defeat her old man."

Mr Delacour scoffs at me, glaring good-naturedly. "I resent that description."

"And I resent being called an arsehole, but that doesn't change reality," I answer airily before furrowing my brows. "Wait, that didn't sound right."

"Come, Father," Fleur says as she stands after snickering at my joke. "Let's show these Englishmen how it is done."

Two weeks. That's how long it took for Fleur to go from 'joining these lessons because they would help with the tournament and in case she finds herself in trouble' to 'this is fun,' and the difference couldn't be more obvious. I must have mentioned it many times before but Fleur has two settings: the cool and aloof girl who couldn't care less about what she's doing and what's going on around her, and the passionate girl who will claw her way to her goal with a burning passion.

Since that first duel I won, duelling became a passion for her and any time I get to watch her, I find myself breathless and awed, not to mention holding a personal flag-raising ceremony- wink, wink.

Lecherous jokes aside, today, she's twice as fiery and it isn't difficult to see why as she pulls every spell and trick in her repertoire against her father, even scoring few hits and cuts. And before you assume anything, I can tell Mr Delacour isn't holding anything back other than keeping his list of spells clean. Hell, he doesn't even bat an eye before banishing Fleur at a wall in a speed that has me wincing.

And Fleur… Oh, Merlin, she's something else. She bounces off the wall, a spell leaving her wand even before she hits the ground and rolls over before casting a weak banishing charm on the ground to get to her feet faster.

And that little trick is the evidence of her new found passion with duelling. In Spain, I watched her fight against experienced duellers and she did well, playing it safe. Now, she takes risks she wouldn't before, coming up with tricks she wouldn't if she didn't have a burning desire to prove herself to her father.

Honestly, she fights with a zeal that leaves me disappointed when Mr Delacour finally pins her down and drops her with a spell to the stomach that steals all the air from her lungs, making it impossible for her to defend against the disarming charm that follows.

She slaps the ground in disappointment before rising to her knees with shaky hands, taking deep breaths while I walk over to her in a brisk pace to help her up. "You okay?"

She nods, her chest moving up and down as she leans on my shoulder, hiding her red cheeks on the crook my neck. "I hate losing," she whispers through her teeth.

"You've only been training for two weeks, Miss Delacour," Flitwick consoles kindly. "If you had won, I'd question Mr Delacour's competence as Head Auror."

"Indeed," Mr Delacour agrees with a nod and a strong voice. "Your technique requires further refinement but you'd make a good auror with minimal training."

Fleur's head shoots up at the praise and she stands taller, only her pink cheeks betraying her pleasure at hearing the pride in her father's voice.

"It's safe to say you'll do great in the duelling portion," Mr Delacour continues without any sign of acknowledgement of her daughter's reaction. "I expect nothing else," he warns, the smile on his lips turning his words from demanding to teasing.

"Don't worry, Father," Fleur says, giving me a dangerous smile. "I promised a good arse-kicking to Harry, here, and I have no intention of breaking my word."

I bite my cheek to stop the inappropriate response that comes to my mind. "I just love how vivid your imagination is," I coo instead, beaming at the blond beauty.

"And I love your delusions, darling," Fleur deadpans, barely managing to stop smiling, her lips twitching.

"Ohh! A lover's quarrel," Sirius butts in with a large, mischievous smile on his face, nudging the straight-faced Head Auror next to him. "I think some betting is in order."

"Oh? What did you have in mind, Mr Black?" Mr Delacour asks with a glint in his eyes.

"Isn't there a rule about law enforcement agents making illegal bets?" I ask, not that I'm opposed to the idea.

"Aw! Are you scared of a little bet?" Fleur teases, messing up my hair to further irritate me.

"No," I answer easily. "I just don't want your father to get upset with me for beating you."

"There are rumours about Black Family Library," Mr Delacour says idly, not at all subtle.

"What do you offer in return?" Sirius asks without a wait, not opposed to losing a few books he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

"That's irrelevant," Fleur butts in, sashaying out of the auditorium, stopping at the sill and looking over her shoulder at me with confident eyes. "I will win."

Oh, boy. It seems our duel has become serious.

 **-HP-**

" **April 3, 1995**

"Shit!"

I jump to left, a sickly yellow curse whizzing by my ear, making my stomach protest the wrongness it exudes. Before I could say another word or turn offensive, another curse flies at me, this one a dark blue. I really need to brush up on my dark magic knowledge. Not knowing what I'm up against has been a constant irritant in my duels against the man, forcing me to rely on shielding or dodging even when parrying would be a better opinion if I had the knowledge of the magic.

Knowing I can't just keep dodging, I cast a reflective shielding charm, hoping I can surprise my opponent with a quick counterattack. The shield stops the curse in its tracks but it sputters out with a whine before it can reach its maker. That's okay though because I am ready to show what I'm capable of so I summon every piece of wood and metal from the stands of the auditorium and banish them to opponents without a care for his well being.

Dozens of pieces blur past me on their way to their target, most stopping when they hit the shield in front of the man. The few that get past the shield as it flickers miss their target, the wooden pieces breaking apart against the stone wall while the metals leave tiny gouges on it. With a sly smile on my lips, I conjure three wooden spears and banish them in a straight line, only a foot between each spear just in case my opponent thinks about dodging and add a disarming charm to their tail.

This is the most I am enjoying myself during a duel other than my loss against Flitwick in Spain and my duel win Fleur, and it's not because I get to hurt Snape. No, Sir, that idea does not make me smile. Not at all.

Meh. Who am I kidding? I love the widening of his eyes when he sees the spears flying at him the moment his shield sputters out.

But that's not the only reason I enjoy myself whenever we duel. With Sirius and Remus, and even with Flitwick and Albus, the duels don't feel… authentic. With them, there is no sense of danger, no fear of pain because they instinctively hold back. Snape, on the other hand, has no compunctions about causing me pain and that sense of danger gets my blood pumping in a way nothing else can.

I think I am becoming an adrenaline junky, which isn't a bad thing by itself, but considering how much trouble I get in without searching for it, I can see many more scars in my future. And when you add to that my natural curiosity… Oh, well.

Evidence of Snape's apathy about causing me pain comes a moment after he blasts away the spears and leans slightly to his left to avoid my disarming charm; when he hisses, "Crucio."

The shield I instinctively cast doesn't even slow the angry red curse and the unforgivable slams into my chest, throwing me off my feet and onto the ground. The slight pain lasts only a single moment before it's gone, leaving me confused as I fall to my knees, panting. My lungs burn as I heave for breath, unable to get any into my lungs no matter how much I try.

I try to calm my mind and body, whispering to myself I'm okay but it doesn't work. Not even Sirius' hand on my shoulder helps as he kneels in front of me, holding me up. I look up from my hands to Sirius but his face is contorted. All I can see is his moving mouth but I can't hear a word he says over the sound of my racing heart. "I'm okay," I whisper once again, trying to mean it and trying to make Sirius hear me even though I can't hear myself.

After watching Sirius' mouth for a long time, I give up on any meaningful communication so I push him off to give myself a breathing room and fall on my arse, my legs refusing to work. I don't know how long I sit at the centre of the large platform of the auditorium, hugging my legs with sweaty hands as I try to make sense of what's happening.

Someone, at some point, pushes my head back and holds a vial with soft blue liquid against my lips. The cold, sweet potion works to calm me even as I drink, my heart finally slowing down and my hearing returning to normal.

I look up to see Sirius and Snape side by side, Sirius looking down at me with worry and Snape with cool indifference. I would laugh at the absurdity of their shared worry but I don't have it in me to laugh just yet.

And yes, that's how Snape looks when worried. I have spent three years in the potion master's classroom and have invoked many emotions on the man so I can somewhat read him and it is easy for me to see his worry with his lips pressed together in a single line and eyes widened, albeit by a small margin.

"I'm okay," I repeat, this time meaning it.

Sirius' eyes roam all over my face before he turns to Snape and pushes the thin man with a hard shove. "What the heck was that, Snivellus?! Casting Cruciatus on Harry?"

Ah, there goes the camaraderie.

After he stumbles and regains his balance, Snape turns to the other man with a narrow-eyed glare and hisses with a voice dripping with venom, "Do you think the Dark Lord will cast tickling charms if Potter ever faces him, Black? No, he will cast unforgivable curses and other dark magic, faster and more terrible than anything I can throw. And if Potter isn't ready for it, he will die before he can peep a complaint."

I stand, my legs still shaky and put a hand on Sirius' shoulder when he makes to speak. "He's right. This is why I asked for his help. I need to be ready for anything and the shield I cast against an unforgivable proved just how much I still need to learn." With the calming draught in effect, I focus my attention on the reason for my earlier confusion and throw a glance at Snape. "What I'm wondering is, why didn't the torture curse hurt? Even the one cast by the non-corporeal hallucination of myself had more kick to it."

"What is the first caveat of Dark Magic, Potter?" Snape asks in his classroom tone. His nostrils flare in annoyance when I give him a blank look. "Oh, for the love of- Tell me you at least know what Dark Magic is?"

"Any magic that has the sole purpose of hurting or dominating others," I answer easily.

The hooked-nosed teacher sighs and throws me a baleful glare. "That's such a Potter way of looking at it." I open my mouth to remind him of my last name but he doesn't allow me. "Dark Magic, in essence, is about power, not pain. But because magic demands a price, usually paid through pain and blood of others at the expense of one's own morality," he explains.

"That doesn't explain why your curse hurt less than the others," I point out.

"If you would wait for me to explain, instead of interrupting me like a child," he drawls with a typical glare. He waits a moment to ensure I stay silent before continuing, "Unlike most magic, Dark Magic depend heavily on desire. For a wizard to cast a successful disembowelling curse, he must desire his target feel incredible pain and die slowly, and that desire has to be the main driving force behind your casting. Otherwise, all it would do is give the enemy a need to visit a bathroom or maybe a painful case of diarrhoea but nothing more."

He slowly walks across the platform as he continues with his hands clasped behind his back, "That is doubly so with Darkest of Dark Magic, like the Unforgivable Three. Unlike disembowelling curse, hatred isn't enough to cast a cruciatus curse. You must want your opponent to suffer, not because you are mad at them, not because you are angry or upset or because you want revenge."

He whirls around and gives me a hard look. "Those emotions would work but be ineffective. No, to cast an unforgivable curse requires the caster to have no regard for his target, to see them as nothing more than a bug to be stepped on or an obstacle to be destroyed."

"That sounds…" I start but can't find the word to describe what I feel, and frankly, I don't want to feel it, let alone describe it.

"And what does it say about you, Snape, that you are so fascinated with Dark Magic?" Sirius asks, his face whiter than ever, an understandable reaction from a man who grew up with a family who loved their Dark Arts and perhaps even used such despicable magic as tools to discipline their children.

Snape shrugs, showing no care for Sirius' words other than a slight tightening of his jaw muscles. "That I'm not a good person? I think the tattoo on my arm proves that better than my fascination with the art. I've never claimed to be a saint."

"You said hatred would work but be ineffective. What does that mean?" I ask reluctantly, returning to the subject at hand before either man could lose themselves in each other's eyes. The sexual tension between them is palpable.

Okay, not really. And don't worry, I know better than to make that joke aloud with these two.

Snape glares at Sirius for a few more seconds before turning his dark, beady eyes to me and taking a few steps across the platform. "It means I could cast cruciatus at your degenerate godfather but his suffering would be short, and compared to a real cruciatus, it would be mild. Not because I don't hate him but because I'm not a sociopath." Another short glare at Sirius follows the explanation. "I doubt there are more than a handful of witches or wizards in Britain who could throw an unforgivable at a whim and without sufficient hatred for their target. There is a reason Bellatrix Lestrange is such a feared witch, and why people freaked out so much when Death Eaters showed up after the World Cup final."

"He's right," Sirius agrees, reluctance to admit dripping from his tone. "Even Grindelwald had trouble casting unforgivable curses sometimes."

A disbelieving snort escapes me as I look at Sirius with a raised eyebrow and cross my arms. "Yes, Gellert Grindelwald, the man who burned down a village to build himself a stronghold, is an okay guy, really. Just a bit misunderstood," I drawl dryly. "Only—what?—three thousand people died that day, including over two hundred children."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he denies vehemently, shaking his head. "I mean not even Grindelwald, as screwed up as he was, was as crazy as my delightful cousin. Just as evil, if not more, but not as crazy."

I tilt my head from side to side before nodding my acceptance of such a possibility. "I guess I can believe _that_ ," I say before turning at Snape with an accusing finger pointed at him. "You know what I just realised?" I ask and answer my own question after a small pause, "You don't hate me!"

Snape snorts at the same time as Sirius, both turning serious and glaring at each other a moment later. Their attempts at killing each other by their eyes alone—or something much more carnal that I will not think about—is broken by my snickering, causing both men to turn their gazes at me. It is the hooked-nose man who speaks, "I assure you, _Potter_ , I hate you very much."

"Na-ah," I disagree respectfully, a large grin on my face. "Your cruciatus didn't hurt at all which means you don't hate me. Just admit it."

My grin gets even wider as the man's lips twitch, though to my disappointment he keeps his face indifferent. "Never," he denies, refusing to give verbal confirmation. His cheerful demeanour, if you could call his cool stoicism that, disappears as he takes a step towards me. "Tell me something, Potter. If my curse didn't hurt you as your claims of my undying love for you indicates, why did you have such a severe reaction?"

I flush in embarrassment at the reminder of my little freak-out, pointedly ignoring both men's inquisitive gazes as I shrug nonchalantly. "I don't know. You are the expert on Dark Magic. You tell me."

"That's why you gave Harry a calming draught," Sirius whispers in understanding.

"Indeed," Snape drawls, giving the other man a victorious look. "We must beat that reaction out of you if you want to survive in a fight against any dark wizard, let alone the Dark Lord."

"I know." I scratch an itch at the back of my neck irritably before smiling cheekily at the man. "But how are we going to do that when you can't cast the curse at me because I'm, like, your favourite person in the world, ever?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure I can muster enough hatred to cause you pain, _Potter_ ," he spats, conveying enough dislike at my last name to make me believe him.

"We should leave that for after the duelling portion of the tournament," Sirius says, crossing his arms. "And I still have my doubts about the usefulness of torturing you to get you used to it."

"As much as it pains me to say, Black is right: we should wait until after the tournament."

"Just admit it, Professor," I continue to tease. "You don't hate me."

His nostrils flaring, Snape whirls around and walks swiftly to the door of the classroom, ignoring my teasing. "I will see you in two weeks, Mr Potter."

"Don't worry, Sir. I don't hate you too," I yell after him, not at all put off by his response.

He stops over the threshold, one hand resting on the door frame. "And that proves your ignorance."

Hell, that wasn't ominous at all.

"What do you think he meant by it?" I ask after a moment to digest.

"It's Snape," Sirius answers with an uncaring shrug like it explains everything.

"I guess."

 **-HP-**

 **April 5, 1995**

"What's that?"

"Mm?" I answer, not processing the question because of my focus on the diary in my hand, fascinated by both the subject and the handwriting of the author. That I have read this diary twice before in the last three years doesn't even faze me anymore. And no quips from Ron about my Hermione-esque behaviour can change that because this diary is one of my most prized possessions. It means more than any painting or invisibility cloak could ever mean.

Hell, there are very gross things written in the diary, yet that I can read my mother's diary is a pleasure I can't put into words. I could live without knowing my father's questionable fetishes but still…

When you are an orphan and if you are lucky enough to know your parents' friends, you often hear vain descriptions of your parents that include words like brilliant, brave, good, handsome, beautiful and many others. I crave those descriptions but reading my mother's words, her worries and things that made her smile is a gift I wouldn't give up for the world. Because no matter how many stories I listen about my parents, they lack the depth that made them who they truly are.

For example, none of the stories Sirius and Remus told me about my parents mentioned Lily Potter cursing James Potter so bad, he had to stay over-night in St Mungo's Hospital. Yes, I think my mother may have been a functioning psychopath. Oh, don't be so judgemental; she was pregnant and my father forgot to buy strawberries… in January... in the middle of a snowstorm… even though my mother asked for blueberries, not strawberries…

Whatever. He had it coming.

Hearing my mother was a brilliant woman is one thing, but reading her ideas as they form and as she works on them is a marvel, and truthfully, brilliant is the word to describe her.

"Harry?" Fleur tries, again, to get my attention and fails while I murmur myself as I read an interesting section of her theories on just how much could be accomplished with sacrificial rituals.

That section was written in February, over five months before I was born. Her research and theories had nothing to do with my minus-five-months-old arse, they had yet to have any bearing in reality. As she wrote these sentences, she did not yet know they would be her death and my salvation.

"Harry!"

I finally look up, only to see Fleur glaring at me with irritation. "Did you say something, Love?"

She huffs and throws her hair back. "You've been reading that notebook non-stop for the last two days," she whines, her lips pursed adorably.

I don't even try to stop the amused smile that forms on my lips. "Aw. Are you jealous of a diary?"

The slap to the back of my head is sudden and not at all gentle. I consider complaining for a moment but decide against it, knowing I deserved that. "No," she lies with pink cheeks and a small smile. "Whose diary is it?"

"My mother's," I whisper, still unable to hide my awe at the existence of such a holy artefact and point at the barely readable title: 'I Think I'm a Genius by Lily Evans Potter.' "She charmed this little never-ending notebook when she was thirteen. It stopped working when she was fifteen but she fixed it."

"That's impressive," my girlfriend comments, leaning on my shoulder to read with me.

I shake my head with a smile, eager to brag about my mother like always. "She theorised and perfected a way to stop a killing curse, something Albus Dumbledore wasn't able to replicate. Calling her impressive is like saying dementors suck."

She snickers at the comparison as she plays with my hair. This is something she's been doing for the last week: playing with my hair. Not that I'm complaining or anything. On the contrary, I love it when she does so, but it irritates me that I don't know the significance. "You mentioned that before. How did she do that exactly?"

"I still don't understand it," I confess, turning my body slightly so she can read the slightly worn out notebook easier. "I've read this thing twice and tried to make sense of the ritual but for the life of me, I can't make sense of it. Though honestly, rituals aren't something I'm knowledgeable about."

"Then look at it from a different angle," she suggests with a shrug. "That's what I do when I struggle with a spell or a transfiguration technique, or even a potion. I try to think of whatever it is I am stuck as an enchantment and work through how I would cast it. Transfiguration, charms, rituals; they are just classifications we came up with to understand Magic better. They are not exactly interchangeable concepts, but they are also not mutually exclusive."

That… makes sense and makes me feel like an idiot. Not because I couldn't figure out my mother's brilliant cure to death, no. Even Albus failed to do so, in a sense. What gets to me is, I never thought to use such a simple technique to work through a problem. "Okay, then. How would you create this 'enchantment?' The known parameters are: the price is the caster's life, the goal is the saving another's and you know who the attempted murderer will be. There are other ingredients she used but let's not complicate the mental exercise with details like necessary ingredients yet."

She tilts her head, so she's looking up at me and gives me a puzzled look. "You know I can't come up with such an advanced enchantment on the go, right? No one can. Such magic would require months of research, rolls and rolls of parchment worth of calculations, countless trials and a ridiculous number of migraine-inducing theory-sessions."

I chuckle at how true that is, as evidenced by Albus' fifteen feet long notes on the subject, half of which is gibberish. "I know. I don't expect you to cure death as we laze about, I just want to understand your process better."

She lifts her head off my shoulder and turns her whole body so we are sitting face to face. "Okay, this would be an object-based protective enchantment as opposed to a conceptualised enchantment to ensure a better chance of succeeding. And you are the object. It is also unrealised magic, so she'd need to create either a ridiculously long chant in an ancient language or a rune-set, if not both, to further define the intent of the magic."

I nod along as she talks until the last sentence, at which point, I stop her with a raised finger. "If it was a rune-set, I'd be riddled with associated scars."

She points a finger at my head. "What about the one on your forehead?"

"No pictures before that Halloween shows a scar on my body and we know she initialised the ritual a year prior. That's dozens of pictures, even some naked ones."

"First, I want to see those pictures," she says with a small smile, earning a chuckle from me, before her eyes close. She's stumped for a few seconds, biting her lower lip, before her face brightens, and the difference is so obvious, I can almost see a light-bulb going off in her head.

"Blood runes. Witches' blood has immense magical potential and considering the price of this magic, it makes sense if she used her own blood to define the purpose. Especially because you are her son, her blood."

"She mentioned in her notes that blood could add weight to a sacrificial ritual," I agree reluctantly. "It would also explain why Albus initially insisted I live with my maternal aunt. Petunia is of the same blood as my mother and could theoretically keep the magic going even after my mother's death."

She nods excitedly, reminding me of Hermione whenever the studious girl figures out a solution to a puzzle. "It would also explain why the killing curse, known for not leaving a mark on the target, left a mark on you. Your mother must have used 'Sowilo*' as the key for the runic script she devised. The killing curse was the activation of the script so it got burned into your forehead at the realisation of the magic."

"That… makes too much sense. But how did she tie her death to my survival? Like, how would that process work? Especially when you consider she initialised the Magic a year before her death that marked the finalisation."

She returns to biting her lip but this time, no light-bulb goes off, her shoulders dropping instead. "I have no idea. You can compartmentalise an enchantment at certain points where the magic can stay passive without dissolving away for a time until the next part is ready. But even then, you'll have a set amount of time before the magic deteriorates. Your mother had no way of knowing when Voldemort would attack so she did not know when the ritual would be finalised."

I drum my fingers on the backrest next to where her shoulder rests as I think. There are many questions surrounding my parents' death and while I have theories on some of them, some have always left me baffled. Their choice on the secret keeper, for example. Sirius claims it was his idea to choose Pettigrew instead of him, and I can believe that. He's the type of Gryffindor to put himself out there as a false bait to be tortured and killed.

The thing is, it makes no sense for anyone who knows the mechanics of Fidelius Charm to use such a convoluted tactic. A secret-keeper can't divulge the secret involuntarily or under any duress. It means Sirius couldn't divulge the secret even if Tom tortured him for hours on end. Sirius didn't know, so I understand why he would come up with the idea to use himself as a decoy, but my mother most likely knew. And she was closer to Sirius than Remus and Pettigrew, and trusted him the most.

"Unless she had a vague idea when Tom would attack?" I offer reluctantly, massaging my forehead, afraid of potential truths this may lead to.

She frowns. "How?"

"I think she may have allowed for Pettigrew to be the secret keeper even though she knew of his betrayal. Otherwise, her choice makes no sense. She was always closest with Sirius out of all my father's friends, was friends with Sirius even before she and my father were dating. She never liked Pettigrew much if her diary is to be believed."

I let out a frustrated breath, looking into her eyes with my pleading ones, begging her to refute my morbid theory. "So why would she agree to use Pettigrew as the secret keeper and Sirius as a bait when she knew Sirius couldn't betray them involuntarily and knew Sirius would never betray them? Unless it was a way for her to control when Tom attacked?"

We sit in silent contemplation for a long time as I try to work through my theory, as distasteful as the idea of my mother sacrificing my father for me is. I let out a deep breath as I get lost in another mystery. "The only reason she would do that is if Tom was targeting me specifically—if she knew, for certain, he would try to kill me, instead of just leaving me be." I tilt my head as the vague memory of that night comes to my mind. "He did tell her to step aside so he could kill me. I never questioned why he would do that."

I think I need to talk to Albus.

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Part II: Dueling Day 1**

 **April 15, 1995**

"No hard feelings, right, Cedric?"

The blonde boy shakes his head from across the pitch. "You sound confident in your victory."

I puff up my chest and scoff at him, talking in a pompous tone, "Well, I am Harry Potter. It's not like I will lose a duel to a _student_."

"If you are ready, gentlemen," the arbitrator cuts in, a Dutchman whose name I still don't know. Cedric and I both nod, so the man puts a distance between himself and us before nodding at both of us. "Bow."

We follow the etiquette and bow to each other before whirling around and taking seven steps each. The judge nods one last time to show his acceptance before declaring in a strong voice, "You may begin."

Being the gentleman I am, I keep my wand steady by my side and let Cedric take the first offensive action. The pretty boy does so with an odd, multicoloured spell that looks harmless though and makes me question the validity of his relationship with Cho, not that I have anything against that other than the possible duplicity.

Whatever. Not my place to comment.

The odd spell is easy to dodge by moving a few inches to my right and casting a simple stunner before levitating a ten-inch wide lump of earth. A simple transfiguration spell turns the lump into two thin but sturdy disks with razor-sharp edges.

I pass the control of the magic on the disks to my left, wandless hand and let my now standard shields hover an inch above the ground, parallel to it. This is something Flitwick suggested as a defensive method because how easy wandless levitation is, and I try, whenever I get the chance, to improve splitting my focus. This way, I could call upon them in a moment's notice.

Oh, please. I know I am awesome. No need to praise me.

Anyway, Cedric's shield stops my stunner with ease, not that I hoped for anything else, and he snaps a blasting hex to the ground I'm standing on, followed by a disarming charm to my right and a stunner to my left.

Eh, a smart move for an amateur but the simplicity of his opening scheme feels like a personal insult and for a moment I consider ending the duel right away but... I should do the magnanimous thing and cure him of this idea that such a simple tactic could ever work without embarrassing him, right?

Instead of worrying about the approaching spells, I take two steps back and cast disillusionment charms at my disks and a banishing charm in front of me as Cedric's blasting hex throws a wave of dirt my way.

The dirt changes directions within moments and with a circular wave of my wand, all the pieces of dirt merge into a head-sized stone likeness of the blonde boy's face. Cedric has little trouble vanishing the stone, the small smile on his face telling me he recognised my work. Still, I can't have him assume throwing a stone is my only move so I snap three other stunners his way, forcing him to stay on defensive and without the option to dodge.

It would be easy to finish the duel now by raining down stunners or disarming charms but that would be such a cheap way to win, wouldn't it? Not to mention boring. So, with a small smile, I draw an overhead circle and slash my wand down before turning a full circle. " _Homolutus, consequor meus auctoritas_."

Albus showed me this trick last year—November, I think. It creates simple golems, easy to destroy but quick on their feet if you know what you are doing. When Albus did it, he created fifteen golems of ten feet in height.

The first time I successfully cast this magic was in last July and it was… underwhelming. Still, two five inch soldiers were better than none and they freaked the fuck out Remus who still refuses to admit he shrieked like a girl.

This time, all my five soldiers are four feet tall. My smile widening, I wink at wide-eyed Cedric and send the little buggers his way. As my loyal subjects run at full speed—which is as fast as an athletic turtle—towards their target, I transfigure their bodies to stone so they don't crumble before reaching the blonde boy.

Cedric turns out to have more than a few brain cells—which isn't really a surprise—and casts a wide area banishing charm to draw my soldiers away from him before destroying one with an exploding hex. As he turns his attention to the other four, I create two illusions of myself a foot on my either side and disillusion myself.

By the time the blonde takes care of the foot soldiers, I am five feet to his left, sitting on the ground with a smile, and when he looks up to see two of my copies, I barely cast a silencing dome around me before falling victim to my laughter at his expression of tired resignation. "Oh, come on!" he cries, making me shake with mirth on the ground.

My two copies answer the boy with identical shrugs and wide smiles. A brilliant idea comes and I cast a messenger bird and send it to Cedric after disillusioning it too. I am getting tired but having far too much fun to consider finishing the duel while the older boy is distracted.

The now-invisible bird circles the boy as it whispers, "On your left, on your right. I'm everywhere, fear my might," before dissolving into the air.

Cedric whirls around but finds nothing but air all around him as I do my best to stay marginally still to not give away my position. He huffs in irritation and conjures up a wind that drags up dust clouds as they pass my copies. Knowing my illusions are about to betray their… illusion-ness?—that doesn't sound right but you get the point—I crouch up and run behind the boy before sitting back down with a silencing spell covering me.

As soon as he realises I'm not one of the two copies he sees, he whirls around once again but can't find me, especially as I stay immobile.

He must realise that because instead of allowing the mystery of where I am to dishearten him, he casts at a furious pace, sending spell after a spell in every which direction, hoping to draw me out of hiding. Honestly, it is not a bad tactic but the only thing it accomplishes is tiring him. I let him continue for a few minutes before standing up slowly. Only when his casting slows, I whisper from behind him, "Over here."

Just as he turns around, a simple disarming charm ends the duel. I can't help snicker uncontrollably while Cedric glares at me with a grudgingly small smile. "No hard feelings, right, Cedric?"

"Cheeky bastard," he grumbles before gently punching me in the shoulder. "You could have just ended the duel instead of humiliating me."

"Maybe, but who am I to deny all these," I sweep my hand towards the Quidditch stands above us, "delightful people some quality entertainment?"

"Whatever."

Reaching the champions' stand with a quick stroll, I wave past Poppy and throw myself next to my girlfriend before landing a sloppy kiss on her cheek. She glares at me half-heartedly and cleans the drool I left behind with the sleeve of her shirt while Aimee grins at me and gives me a thumbs up. "That was great," the always cheerful girl exclaims.

"I know," I say with a shrug. "I keep telling you: I'm awesome."

"That's true," Fleur agrees, surprising me. My surprise is not because I doubt her respect for me but she usually prefers to burst my bubble of ego, not feed it. "But that only means I'm even more awesome."

"You still believe you can beat me?" I ask as I put my hand around her shoulder, a smug smirk on my face.

She rests her head on my shoulder and smiles up at me. "Believe? No. I know it."

"Yet you haven't won a single duel against me."

"I plan to use that frustration to fuel my rage."

"Do you find it odd that everyone has fantasies about kicking your arse, Potter?" Cedric asks as he sits next to me, an easy grin on his lips.

"Aw. I'm honoured to hear you fantasise about me under the cover of darkness, Ced, but I'm afraid my heart belongs to someone else."

"And that's why so many people want to watch you get your arse kicked," Cedric points out, not at all put off by the heartbreaking news. He's quick to get over me, I guess. The pretty boy turns to Aimee with an easy smile that most likely drives Cho crazy. "Are you ready for your duel, Aimee?"

Aimee shrugs. "No. I'm not good at duelling, not that I want to be."

Before we can continue our conversation, Bagman's voice echoes around the stadium, "The arbitrator has returned to the pitch and is calling for the next duel which will pit Beauxbaton's Aimee Beaufort against Durmstrang's Britt Henningsen.

Aimee stands and after the usual good wishes from the three of us, follows the shorter and portly girl down the stairs and to the pitch, or duelling pit as it is called for the day.

"I advise against allowing Miss Henningsen's standings in the tournament fool you. She is one of Europe's best young duellers, best known for her precision and offensive style," Bagman continues to ramble from above us. "The champions are in place and after a quick word with the arbitrator, they each walk ten steps.

After they bow, the Serbian girl opens the duel by snapping a quick set and the duel becomes more of a cat-and-mouse game than any sport between two equals. When Aimee said she isn't good at duelling, she wasn't lying, apparently. She does try to attack a few times Britt allows her to, but the duel is over quickly and the only reason it lasts longer than a minute is that Aimee is fast on her feet.

"Well," I begin as the arbitrator returns Aimee's wand to her. "I guess that's another win guaranteed."

Fleur jabs a finger to my right, always ready to jump to her friend's defence. "Not with that attitude. Aimee may not be the best dueller out there but she's smart."

"Of that, I have no doubt," I answer before changing the subject. "Are you ready to kick some arse?"

"Our duel is not until late in the afternoon, love," is the cheeky reply by Fleur as she disentangles herself. "But yes, I am ready."

It takes fifteen minutes for the arbitrator to, once again, return to the pitch and calls for Victor and Fleur. After a quick good luck kiss from me, Fleur joins the Bulgarian boy down on the dirt and takes her place while I ignore Bagman's commentary on what to expect from the champions, with his support of the Quidditch star barely hidden.

I move to the edge of my seat, interested in this duel more than the one before and that's when I notice the excitement around the stadium for the first time. People all around the stadium are shouting their support to the duellers, waving flags with the crests of the three schools.

Drawing my wand, I conjure two flags myself, one with Hogwarts' crest and one with Beauxbaton's, and give the Hogwarts one to Cedric.

After a quick bow, the duel between the French beauty and Bulgarian Quidditch star begins with Krum making the first move, not at all surprising when you consider his confidence in everything he does and directness of every action he takes. He's not one to shy from a challenge, preferring to go head first into everything.

His opening spell—one which I can't identify by the colour alone because of the distance—flies an inch away from Fleur's ear as the girl tilts her head slightly, supremely confident about the success of the movement. She does not stand idly, responding with a quick spell of her own, a white beam streaking towards her opponent even as she moves from his location, casting another spell.

Two duellers continue on the same vein for a few minutes, neither scoring any hits and neither giving any sign of slowing down or changing tactics. Both have similar duelling styles, relying on the excellent control they have over their own bodies but while Fleur keeps her movements small and efficient, Victor's movements are larger and complete to reduce muscle strain.

Still, with neither side showing any signs of tiring, one of them has to change things up if they want to win and it is Victor who does so by changing his offensive style to casting two consecutive blasting curses at the ground around Fleur.

My girl, being the brilliant girl she is, takes the change in stride, taking two steps forward while casting rapid fire hexes at the Bulgarian. Victor dodges the first two, the speed of Fleur's spells making it difficult for him to attack, but has to shield against the continuing onslaught.

Fleur is quick to take advantage of the situation by raining down spell after a spell, casting every fourth or fifth spell at the ground around her opponent. After three minutes of non-stop casting, she slows down, her chest moving up and down rapidly because of the exertion.

Victor, not realising the danger, attempts to dodge the next hex but falls victim to the uneven ground under his feet and stumbles into Fleur's curse. His hair explodes out of his scalp in waves and entangles around his neck, causing him flush as he tries to suck in air and fights his unrelenting hair off.

A simple disarming charm by Fleur ends the match and a finishing charm returns Victor's hair to his normal state.

I am, of course, on my feet, yelling my support and appreciation of a good strategy to my girlfriend as she shakes Victor's hand on her way to the stand I'm standing on.

Victor is an odd guy. I've heard him speak four—maybe five sentences if you don't count the Yule Ball, and while he appears cold and sullen, he maintains dignity even when he loses. Even Hermione spoke highly of the boy's sense of fair play, which is as high approval as you can get. I respect that a lot and his reaction to his defeat just now raises my respect for the boy up a nudge.

As I follow the two duellers while they walk and talk, I consider Victor's style and consider my options against him.

While I want to win the duel and even put on a show, I don't want to reveal too much. If we ever face, my best weapon against him is the element of surprise and frankly, if I have to use every trick in my arsenal against a student, what chance do I have against Tom?

No, misdirection is the name of the game.

My plotting is interrupted by my girlfriend who joins my side after a quick check in with Poppy. I give her a sloppy kiss and a congratulatory hug after nodding at Victor. "That was great, love."

"Thank you," she replies.

It is then that my stomach protests the indignity of going without food for a few hours, especially after spending so much energy to cast various illusions, maintained a continuous control for over five minutes over two flying disks while creating a small golem army.

Smiling at Fleur and Aimee's giggles, and Cedric's large grin, I scratch my chin. "I have a feeling you are all hungry so why don't we head to Great Hall so you could eat."

We stroll to the castle proper, picking up a crowd of friends on the way, including Cedric's friends and Cho, and sit down at the Hufflepuff table for a change. It is a crowd larger than I am used to but for a change; I enjoy it and the various conversations we have both along the way and during lunch.

As we eat, I observe the surrounding people, something I have done little, of late, both because of my aversion to public attention when I'm not doing anything worthwhile and because of my disconnect with my peers because of my training schedule. I am surprised to discover I missed just hanging out with people.

I observe as Ron and Hermione snap at each other, their body languages speaking of tension that has nothing to do with the subject they are arguing over. Ron speaks softer than usual and Hermione's frown is on the verge of a smile. His words are chosen more carefully, even logically while Hermione's have lost some of their nagging quality.

I knew they were getting along better but I didn't know they both decided to make an actual effort.

Ginny is resting her head on Neville's shoulder with Neville's arm draped around her, neither looking uncomfortable showing off their relationship. Hell, if anything, Neville is sitting straighter, more confident and Ginny has lost her boyish act.

She's doing wonders for that guy and he for her.

Cedric… That boy is something else. He is, as I said before, a social butterfly, conversing with everyone around him even while paying special attention to his girlfriend. He has a way of keeping the people around him happy and interested with fascinating ease.

That's not to say I am awkward in large crowds or anything but unlike me, Cedric is genuine about his interest in what everyone around him says and his friends can sense his interest. The only people whose lives I find myself genuinely interested in are my closest friends.

Honestly, I may joke around and yes, he's not the most magically talented guy around but he's a great guy and someone I hope I can call a friend, even if not a close one. A kind and fun guy like him is a rarity.

My observations are cut short when someone taps me on the back and I turn around to see the twins, back from their exile, looking tense. "A word, Potter?"

I consider them for a few moments, imagining the tortures Mrs Weasley came up with, before nodding and stand to follow them. Fleur puts a hand on my arm before I leave, silently offering to come with me but I refuse with a shake of my head. Whatever the twins want, they are careful to look as non-threatening as possible, even abashed. I follow the duo outside the hall and to an empty room, probably an old classroom that went out of use when the number of students dropped at the turn of the century.

The door closes behind me with a click as I put my back against a wall and wait for the redheads to speak, showing a surprising amount of patience as they struggle with what they intend to say.

"Look, we never intended to you to get hurt with that potion," one of them begins.

"It was supposed to make you hallucinate whatever a boggart would turn into for you."

"And we don't know what you saw but we swear we didn't think _that_ would happen."

"So, we are sorry. Not for pranking you—because you deserved that—but for not being more careful with our prank."

"You didn't deserve that."

I stay silent, making them sweat as they wait for an acknowledgement of their apology. They sound genuine instead of forced, I'll give them that, and frankly, I don't have it in me to stay mad at the morons after nearly two months. But that doesn't mean I'll go easy on them, knowing I have them on the back foot.

"I appreciate your words, boys, but words are meaningless. How can I be sure you mean what you say?" I know it's low but… well, what's a better way to mend our relationship than by a small harmless prank. "In ancient times, when someone apologised to someone they hurt, they would offer them a gift to show they mean it."

The twins turn to each other and nod after a short, silent conversation that leaves me envious of the talent and how close they are with each other. But all that flies out the window when one boy takes out a special piece of parchment that makes my eyes widen as I snatch it out of whoever's hands.

"Are you fucking serious?! You have the original!" I don't wait for them to respond, whispering at the worn out parchment with excitement obvious in my voice, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Ink spreads around the parchment and I can't help take a deep breath as I caress the words written in my father's handwriting.

When I asked for a boon, I was planning on messing with the twins for a while before giving it back. But this… I can't give this parchment up. It's the original Marauder's Map, for crying out loud.

"How?" the twins ask at the same time, bringing me out of my embarrassingly emotional moment.

I don't answer; I don't look away from the treasure in my hand. I reach into my robe's left pocket and pull out my map—improved version of the original that has much, much less sentimental value—and hold it out for the twins to take. "The password is 'Open Sesame.'"

"What? How?"

"James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew: Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail," is my succinct explanation. "Keep it. I made improvements over the original."

"What improvements?" When I don't answer, still watching my father's name with unholy attention, one of them puts a hand on my shoulder. "Potter, you okay?"

Shaken out of my weird state, I turn to the boys and smile. "I'll let you figure out the improvements yourself. And for what it's worth, apology accepted and all that rot. Just stop messing with me. You are Ron and Ginny's brothers and I love your family. I don't like fighting a Weasley, no matter how obnoxious you two can get."

"Oi!"

"I thought we were making peace," one says, a small grin on their faces to show they aren't actually offended.

I shrug with a small grin of my own before opening the door to return to the group I left behind. "I have to go, gentle… well, men. I still have a Bulgarian arse to kick."

Our return to the table is quick and is met with cheers, especially by the other two Weasleys who seem glad the tension between me and some members of their family is resolved. The only cold welcome comes from Fleur who watches the twins with narrow eyes but a squeeze on her shoulder from me calms her down, and I'd be lying if I say her protective streak doesn't put a smile on my face.

Our group doesn't stay on the table after my return and Fleur and I take a stroll around the lake while others do whatever they do when I'm not around.

It is a delightful spring day today with the sun warming the air to a comfortable degree, a rarity for Scotland to be sure. So, it isn't surprising I have a serene smile on my face as I enjoy the way sun shines off of my girlfriend's silvery hair, creating an odd halo around her head that reminds me of old depictions of angels.

Fleur notices my distraction after a few minutes and changes directions, dragging me to an empty clearing for a delightful make-out session. You would think after spending almost every waking moment together for the last two months, the physical part of our relationship would slow down but I can't get enough. Neither can Fleur because she starts these make-out sessions as often as I do.

One part of me fears what would happen if our relationship doesn't work out because she sure is twisting my expectations of what relationships between teenagers include.

Then again, I wouldn't give our relationship up, nor change anything about it, for the world. I love her and love how expressive she is with her body, and I have no doubt she feels the same way.

I am a lucky, lucky man.

 **-HP-**

The second round of duels opens with a match between Fleur and Aimee that ends within three minutes; Aimee showing effort but not talent once again. I honestly find her lack of ire at losing baffling but who am I to judge?

I walk down to the pit after a good luck kiss from both girls and a pat on the back from Cedric and take my place on the pit, waiting for the arbitrator to start the duel. Victor stands fifty feet across me with an impressive poker face, his back ramrod straight and shoulders squared in a show of confidence. If I was anyone else, it might work to intimidate the poor fellow but from watching his performance against Fleur, I know I can defeat him.

"Bow."

My opponent and I bow to each other, neither of us taking our eyes off the other in an odd version of chicken until the arbitrator gives us leave to begin.

Victor attacks immediately and with much more vehemence than his efforts against Fleur, several spells flying at me. With a wave of my wand and a whispered incantation, two walls materialise from the sandy ground and are destroyed by Victor's spells immediately.

I conjure a wind storm that lifts the sand from destroyed wall to drop the visibility after dodging a blindly shot curse and transfigure pieces of ground into seven large, highly elastic boards. Levitating the boards into place is easy but gives Victor enough time to stop my sand storm with a freezing charm so I disillusion them to keep my game plan a secret.

My opponent destroys the thin sheet of ice he created with an exploding curse before banishing the resulting shards my way but a fire whip ends the threat. Victor takes advantage of my focus on the ice shards by going on offensive, speed casting several low-level hexes and jinxes to keep me on my toes and test my defences. Dodging the first few, I parry the rest to test my reflexes in an uncontrolled environment for a change.

Parrying a spell means casting a tiny shield at the tip of your wand, a technique that takes almost no effort and allows for a quick counter-attack. The only downside is a single mistake means a certain hit, and it takes quick reflexes. It's a relatively new skill but I am becoming adept at it after spending hours and hours suffering minor injuries under Flitwick's supervision. Hell, the jeers I suffered probably helped more than any advice Flitwick and Sirius offered.

Victor's speed is impressive but compared to Flitwick, he's an amateur so I get bored in no time and 'a bored Potter is a dangerous Potter,' as Minerva likes to say. Considering my options, I decide to change things up and imitate Fleur's technique of 'dodge and cast'. My first two spells miss their target, but soon enough, the duel turns into one not unlike Fleur's duel against the Bulgarian across the pitch.

I start my attack with spells I can fire quickly: disarming charms and stunning spells, but as soon as I have more than a few seconds, I let loose three birds. Victor has no trouble destroying the small creatures but his distraction is all I need to cast a flashing spell to blind him before disillusioning myself, spell taking hold almost before I finish the incantation.

As accomplished as I am at disillusionment charm, I am not as proficient as to turn completely invisible while moving so I follow it by conjuring smoke as a… well, a smoke screen. With my invisibility ensured, I run as fast as I can towards the board closest to the ground I disillusioned a few minutes ago and jump on it, bouncing from it to the board closest. I bounce from one board to a different board until I stop at the last one that has me thirty feet above Victor.

A quick glance down tells me Victor has dealt with the smoke and is trying to locate me by conjuring a large circle of fire around him that grows as it moves away from the boy. It is a smart tactic and would probably work if I was on the ground. With a grin, I drop the disillusionment charm to let the spectators see me before casting three stunners down. He sees the spells coming at him at the last second and dodges to his left but not far enough to dodge all of them.

With a slowing charm on the tip of my tongue and wand, I jump from my perch and land on the ground softly before awakening my downed opponent a moment after the arbitrator calls the duel.

Victor, showing his sense of fairness, walks the small distance between us. "Good duel, Potter," he growls in broken English, though I think it's his regular form of speaking, and shakes my hand.

"Thanks," I say with a grin as I shake his hand back. "You put on a good show too."

"Not good enough," he says with a shake of his head and leaves.

I shrug and follow the boy. Fleur looks up from her conversation with Aimee and welcomes me with a warm smile when I reach the top, and I can't help return her smile with a crooked one of my own, hopelessly in love.

I throw myself next to my girlfriend before accepting the water bottle she holds out.

I am so glad for all the training Sirius and Remus have been pushing on me this year. If not for that, I would be a shapeless goo on the ground, unable to move, but somehow they beat stamina into my skinny arse.

That's not to say other champions are tired; they are doing fine, but that's because none of them even attempted to use magic as complicated as I used. They are smart enough to know their limits and pace themselves.

Hell, even Sirius and Remus have improved themselves since the start of the year. Hell, Remus has six-packs now and I do not know what to do with such information. I bet several seventh-year girls have crushes on him, not that I can blame them when the only other conceivable option for those likely to crush on a teacher is Snape.

Hm. That's a good subject to tease the newest professor of the school, methinks.

It isn't long before the pitch is back to optimal conditions and the arbitrator returns for Cedric's duel against Britt.

I wish Cedric good luck as he passes by, and sit up on my seat to watch the duel. Britt is an unknown, and not in the sense I don't know what to expect from her in a duel. No, something about that girl, about the shine in her eyes whenever I see her that irks me though I have no idea what. My senses are tingling and I can't help worry something is up.

Hey, now! It's not paranoia when they are out to get you.

Cedric loses the duel in five minutes but that's not surprising with the Serbian girl's reputation. No, what's surprising is the savagery she shows in her attacks and her obvious drive to injure the Hufflepuff as much as she can before the duel ends. I think Cedric understands that as well because it is him that ends the duel by throwing his wand on the ground and yields.

His yielding doesn't stop the Serbian from casting one last bone-breaking curse though, much to the displeasure of everyone watching. Even Victor looks disturbed, and that boy shows so little emotions, a robot would call him on it.

Yes, something is definitely going on because that wasn't a normal duel and her actions would see her banned from every duelling circuit there is.

With the mood affected by Cedric's injuries that will take all night to heal according to Poppy, we spend the free hour we have until the next round sitting by the lake; the conversation stilled. Honestly, that duel reminded me of the fight I had with the Weasley trio, and Cedric's broken hip, left hand and the cuts and bruises on other parts of his body prove it.

An hour later, we return to the Quidditch stadium for the third and the day's last round of duels, the sun already well on its way down.

The first duel of the round is between Victor and his schoolmate and it's a straightforward one where the girl tries to act like she's doing all she can while losing. It's an act that fools no one and Victor's glare at the girl afterwards would be funny if it wasn't because of such a despicable action.

Karkaroff must really want to win if he ordered her student to throw one duel and play extra dirty in the other one. And no, I have no doubt the dirty bastard is behind Serbian girl's actions, not that I don't still consider her a bug I shall crush under my boot.

When the arbitrator returns after a short time, Fleur and I take our places across from each other for our duel. The lack of any banter and the tension feels odd as bantering has become a form of flirting for us ever since that first duel but I shake it off, focusing on trying to sense what Fleur has planned for me.

Oh, I know she has something up her sleeve; she has been using tactics from the same playbook for over two weeks know, lulling me into a false sense of superiority but, for the life of me, I can't figure out her plan.

"Ready?" the arbitrator asks, bringing me out of my musings, and getting a nod from both of us, commands us to begin.

I open the duel with the handshake chain, changing things up from my previous duels today by attacking right away, hoping to keep Fleur off guard. Fleur dodges the spells but does not attack, holding her wand limply by her side.

What are you planning, my love?

Honestly, I know I am the better dueller but duelling is about strategy as much as power and skill and Fleur is not that far behind me in terms of skill for me to have any sense of assurance of a victory. And not knowing what she has in store is driving me nuts.

What? I am a naturally curious guy and she has become a central part of my life lately. You can't blame me for my desire to know what goes on in that incredible brain of hers.

Her lack of offensive action is enough for me to know she wants me to continue attacking so I do the opposite, drawing up stone walls from the ground to use for cover and shield throughout the duel. She still doesn't attack, even when I give an opening the size my ego and by the time my patience runs out, the pitch has become a small maze.

Glaring at Fleur's smug smirk, and in irritation at the slight pain building in my head, I raise my wand to call a golem army, my frustration feeding into the magic enough to cause my soldiers to form bigger, looking far more menacing than the cute troublemakers I used against Cedric. I sigh in disappointment when Fleur destroys what took me nearly a minute to create, in half that time with a whip of fire she controls with awe-inspiring expertise.

Dammit! The golems Albus created were so damn sturdy.

Still, she finally used magic and I take advantage of the change in status quo by banishing towards her the two large balls I readied a few minutes ago. The maze around us serves another purpose: limiting her movements so I can trap her and she must realise because instead of dodging the projectiles, she sends pressurised water from her wand that digs into the ground.

It takes me a moment to realise her goal and I smile in appreciation of her quick thinking while the balls follow the paths she created.

Okay, perhaps my smile is not only in appreciation because as soon as I understand her plan to deal with the projectiles, I have a counter-plan ready.

She turns with a smug smile once the balls are past her but a mirroring grin on my lips causes her smile to drop, and rightly so. A simple summoning charm has the balls flying back and I follow up with two rapid-cast disarming charms.

She must have sensed the balls because she drops low with a shield in front of her, the balls missing her by inches and one of my disarming charms dissipating against her shield while the other misses her completely. Her quick reflexes may be enough to deal with my initial attack but now I have an advantage, I will use it and I do that by sending a ball of fire in her direction followed by a freezing charm.

Two spells of the opposite nature slam against a green shield that looks like some kind of metal—magic I haven't seen used before—breaking it with a loud crack, leaving behind only green vapour that prevents me from seeing anything behind them.

I ignore my surprise and run behind a low wall I transfigured before to regroup, rubbing my temples to quell the now-full blown headache. And why are my ears buzzing?

Okay, Potter, think. I need to come up with a winning strategy before this untimely headache costs me the duel.

Fleur is staying oddly passive so far, letting me attack with impunity. Why? To draw me to attack, letting my guard down? Perhaps, but she knows I can be unrelenting when I attack and unlike her or Victor, I can last while the disrupted pitch would make it harder for her to defend. She's bound to make a mistake before I let my guard down if that's her plan and she knows it.

She's careful with the magic she uses. She could have dealt with the golems, balls and elements I used easily with various charms but she used physical objects instead. Why? Banishing charms, shielding charms would have been easier and wouldn't put her at a disadvantage.

Ugh! This is maddening.

My nostrils flaring in anger at my inability to figure out her plan, I cast a disillusionment charm on myself. If she intends to defend, I must be more forceful and faster with my attacks and cutting down the distance would help along a great deal.

With several walls around the pitch, I have no need for any other cover so I stay crouched down as I run from behind one wall to another and another, reducing the distance between us while keeping an eye on my target. Fleur is standing where she started the duel, an irritatingly calm smile on her lips as her goddamn blue eyes roam every inch of the pitch in a vain attempt to spot me.

I am quick to cross the distance between us even though I have to zigzag around the pitch to use the walls as a cover to stay hidden. A small smile forms in my face as I make my way behind a wall on her left, twenty feet away but before I can, a magical build up has me throwing myself forward. Rolling up to my feet, I am forced to shield against a dark grey spell that slams against my shield with a gong, leaving me shocked.

How the hell did she know where I was? She didn't glance in my direction once.

Another spell whips my way, showcasing her aim and forcing me to shield yet again and she doesn't let up even after that, her spells gaining intensity and forcing me to run the last few feet to the wall I had planned to use as my base to flank her before. I throw myself behind the wall, breathing deeply as my adrenaline soars and spells wheeze past my ears.

What the hell is happening? How the hell is what's happening? I… What?

I have had enough experience with magic that affects one's mind this year to know something is affecting my thought process but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. I have consumed no potions and that vapour from whatever her shield was didn't even reach me. She hasn't hit me with any spells. So what?

Okay, whatever it is, I know it's there so I'll just have to focus and hell, this is precisely what Occlumency is for.

Deep breaths. This is just a duel and winning isn't everything. I have to let the instincts my teachers have been instilling in me take over. Instincts, yes. I am good with doing random shit and still succeeding. Hell, stabbing a diary with a snake's fang was over-the-top random yet it worked and that arrow that killed Barty Jr resulted from my instincts so it's not without precedent.

But both those actions ended in death. Well, if you could call what happened to that ghost version of Tom dying. Either way, this is Fleur I am up against. I can't let anything happen to her. Minor injuries in a duel are unavoidable but even the thought of her getting seriously hurt is physically painful.

No. Instincts won't do. I can't risk it.

What to do? What to do?

I can lose?

Hell, why am I so goddamn determined to win, anyway? This is just a simple duel for a tournament I didn't even want to be in. Doing my best is one thing; and yes, I want to win, but this duel won't change the general outcome. All it will cost me is five points. I can live with that. I am already ahead and if I win the next two duels, I'll probably stay ahead.

Decision made, I stand up with no sign of the crisis that had my heart beating in my chest at a furious pace, and take a step out of the cover of the wall before making a show of throwing away my wand, the self-satisfied smile and shinning eyes of Fleur making me chuckle. Whatever she did, she deserved this win. While I could continue and perhaps even win, victory is suspect either way and I have no qualms with admitting when I am beaten.

Especially when I am beaten by such a gorgeous figure, and frankly, the satisfaction in her face is enough reason for me to lose by itself.

"Delacour wins," the arbitrator announces and I summon my wand back, not taking my eyes off Fleur as she dispels whatever magic that won her the duel.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the pain behind my temples easing and my mind once again working at full capacity. The arms wrapping around me has me opening my eyes to a view I am growing to love more and more every day, even when I doubt I could love it more. Before she can speak, I do, "An enchantment?"

She grins and nods, "A compulsion intermixed with a Turn-Away line."

"Ah. One has me wanting to look at you while the other makes me look away, causing my brain to go haywire." I smile at her inequity and wrap my arms around her waist, drawing her closer and breathing in her intoxicating smell. "What about authority? I thought only the headmaster could cast enchantments over a school property?"

Her eyebrows raise and drop, a motion so adorable and self-satisfied, I can't help kiss her before she answers.

"You are right but for the purposes of the duel, this pitch is for duellers to do as they wish. It is a not actually a magical contract, but it is an agreement that gives a small wiggle room. I doubt anything powerful or long-lasting would take hold but my enchantment was simple enough to work."

Damn, that's ingenious.

"That makes sense," I say, nodding along with her explanation, and stop her when she tries to turn around to leave, ignoring the ministry workers entering the field to fix it. "One last question. How did you know where I was? There is no way you saw me."

"Oh?" she says with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that was the purpose of the human-revealing spell. You know, to reveal hidden humans."

I cringe at my stupidity and sigh. "Yes, yes. I forgot that spell worked on disillusionment charm, but can you blame me? You are the first one to use it against me in a duel."

"No, I'm not," she disagrees as she disentangles herself from me before dragging me towards the champions' stand. "Professor Flitwick uses it all the time; he just isn't obvious about it."

"Really?" Now, that's a surprise. The man showed no sign of ever using it. "I wonder why he'd let me run around disillusioned instead of warning me against over-reliance?"

Fleur shrugs her ignorance, skipping alongside me. "I won," she exclaims when I look at her questioningly. "That means I won our bet and Father won his."

I chuckle at the out-of-character behaviour. "I had no idea beating me was such a big deal for you."

"I think you are forgetting what our bet was about," she points out, not troubled by my soaring ego at her reaction to winning. "You will be my slave for the next weekend."

"Slave is such an ugly word."

"That was the deal. I win, you do whatever I want for a weekend."

"Yes," I agree with a nod. "I'm not trying to wiggle out of our deal. I dislike the word."

She grins and shrugs with no care. "What would you call it then?"

"An average weekend."

 **-Flowers for Your Grave-**

 **Part III: Duelling Day 2**

 **April 16, 1995**

This is it. If I win this duel, I can get ahead of Harry in the tournament. I doubt Diggory can put up a real challenge with the injuries he suffered against the girl standing fifty feet from me. But that's the thing, the heartless girl in front of me is an accomplished dueller already, far more so than me, and the smile on her lips tells me she has something similar in mind for me.

Let's get one thing straight: I'm not scared. Fleur Delacour does not fear facing a cruel girl.

But I have a healthy respect for my opponents talents and the awareness of her questionable methods, something which can be an advantage for her. I will still win.

No, the question is how much will winning cost me and how much will it hurt?

The arbitrator moves in between us, turning from her to me before repeating the motion. "Ready? Bow."

Neither of us do. After yesterday's show, I have no respect for the monster in front of me and she dropped her act completely.

The arbitrator, an Italian man of considerable stature, considers us carefully, turning from me to the other girl before nodding his reluctant acceptance of the broken tradition. "I want to see a clean duel. I will not hesitate to end it early if any of you steps a single foot outside the line," he warns us though we all know at whom the words are aimed. He puts a distance between himself and us and gives my opponent a hard look. "You may begin."

The girl—I refuse to utter her name, for a wild thing like her doesn't deserve the honour of recognition—begins the duel by attacking, not a surprise. The chain of spells flying at me are of the dark variety, aimed at causing pain more than incapacitation, again, not a surprise.

If Harry's theory is correct—something I am doubtful of, I don't know why—then Karkaroff must really want to win this tournament more than he fears potential backlash. More importantly, if Harry's theory is correct, it is a crime to let that man walk around pretending to be an educator. I really hope he's wrong.

But I digress. Dodging the spells is an easy prospect, something I should remember to thank Professor Flitwick for. I respond with a simple jinx, focusing my attention on creating a similar set of area enchantments to the one I used against Harry.

With my opponent's experience and talent in duelling, setting traps and enchantments are my best bet to win this thing, and unlike the one I previously used, this set is complicated but powerful.

The first thing you should know about enchantments of any kind is the term authority. When you want to cast an enchantment on an object or an area, you must have ownership of or a claim to your target. In other words—and words most used by the experts—you have to have authority over your target area.

The Hogwarts castle, grounds and school fall under the authority of Headmaster, which means normally I would need explicit permission from him before I can cast an enchantment over any part of the school. But in this case, like yesterday, I have a wiggle room because this is a duel.

The technical definition of a duel is, a magical fight between two magic users under a set of agreed conditions. Those conditions include the ability to use anything in the duelling arena as we wish, and because the master of the grounds agreed to the rules, he gave us permission to do as we wish within the bounds of the rules.

Dumbledore's authority over the castle still stands, and he has the authority to call off the duel and undo any magic we cast upon an area. That means whatever I do will stay weak and in some cases, won't take hold.

By using simple jinxes to keep my opponent unaware of my intentions, I still have the time and focus to create a banishing line. A banishing line does what the title suggests and is used in animal reserves, most notably, the European Dragon Reserve, to keep them confined.

It's an easy piece of magic, especially as my line is only a few dozen feet long so by the time my opponent sends a second chain of even darker curses, a twenty-feet invisible line is set fifteen feet in front of me.

With the increased speed and intensity with which the other girl attacks, I am forced to dodge repeatedly and after the first few curses, to put up a shield against two curses that would have me armless and choking on my blood. Talk about a disarming curse.

As soon as the blood spitting curse dissipates against my shield, I conjure a large fireball, something that comes easy to me and send it flying at my opponent. I follow that with a chain Harry and Flitwick created two weeks ago and named 'the Check Mate.' It's a long chain that took me more than a few hours to learn and even more to become somewhat proficient at.

A ball of water, a disarming charm, another ball of water, two freezing spells and a special derivation of a banishing charm that somehow works on spells and adds speed to them leaves my wand. The last part of the chain are three conjured birds that will explode in a violent flash as soon as it contacts a solid object or a piece of magic, one of Harry's creations.

With my opponent occupied by the chain I cast, I have the opportunity to set a few more traps and I do so as soon as I get back up to my feet. With an understanding of the other girl's plan, it isn't hard to come up with a reasonable strategy to win the duel.

The first order of business is a weak compulsion charm on a disillusioned stone on my side of the banishing line to draw her to the line. I will increase the strength of the compulsion throughout the duel to keep my opponent unaware of the outside influence.

By the time I set the compulsion and hide the stone, my opponent has dealt with 'the check mate' and is back on offence. The bone breaker that flies at me is easy to dodge, as is the next two curses, but the volume of curses she casts means I soon have to rely more and more on shields.

Her experience becomes increasingly obvious over the next five minutes as the speed of her casting increases, and I find myself hard pressed to stop the curses, unable to feed to the compulsion.

With my options limited, I take a few steps back to draw her closer to the banishment line but the uneven ground causes me to lose my balance. A cutting curse grazes my left elbow, drawing a hiss from me and some blood but I find my balance quickly after dodging a blasting hex.

I consider casting a quick healing charm but the pain is easy to ignore and the location of the cut has no effect on my performance so I let it be. Instead, I use the tiny window of opportunity as I dodge another cutting curse to strengthen the compulsion.

But my opponent has wizened up to my methods and a blasting hex has me thrown ten feet back. I come to a rolling stop and cast a shield as soon as I gather my wits; the shield forming just in time to stop a pain curse.

That's when the other girl and I make eye contact and it isn't hard to know I won't be getting up soon from the cruel glint in her eyes and the smug smirk she supports. I don't even defend against the kaleidoscope of curses coming; none that would end the duel; all aimed to hurt.

No, I put everything I have to strengthening the compulsion, my only chance at winning at this point.

A moment later, two curses slam into me: a pain curse that is still legal for reasons I can't understand and a cutting curse that digs into my thigh almost to the bone, and I let out a scream at the worst pain I ever felt.

The pain curse stops almost immediately but the deep gash on my left thigh has me crying out in pain. I won't lie and say throwing my wand and yielding doesn't cross my mind but as I watch the victoriously grinning girl's movements, I know I can still win.

Another pain curse slams into me, earning another scream from me, and it doesn't stop after a moment this time; the thing swaggering towards me has no intention of stopping it. Even as I scream, I keep an eye on the girl, wishing the pain away and willing her to hurry the remaining ten feet but she doesn't.

Instead, she stops moving and intensifies the curse holding me in its grasps, my scream turning hoarse because of the abuse heaped on my throat. She slightly turns, still not letting up, and grins at a random direction.

It takes me a few seconds—that feel like dozen minutes—to realise she's grinning at Harry, either to anger him into making a mistake in his duel against her in a few hours or just to fuck with him. Either way, it's a big mistake.

She makes her second mistake by stopping the curse and returning to her slow walk, arrogance dripping from her in every step.

I try to breathe but the blood in my mouth has me choking, forcing me to spit out a glob of blood as I force myself up to my knees, my hands shaking with the effort.

She laughs—actually laughs!—at how weak and pathetic I must look. "I have to say, I didn't expect you to last this long, princess."

I pat the ground next to me and palm my wand, ignoring the pain rushing through every nerve in my arms at the motion and the spasms rocking through my body at the effort that takes me to even kneel. Five feet.

"Your boyfriend looks worried, wouldn't you agree?" Her eyes widen as her smile turns even bigger. "Well, you would if you could see him, I'm sure."

She laughs at her own joke but her laughter is cut short when she blasts back and as soon as she's off her feet; I raise my wand and shoot a disarming charm as I fall. I must admit, it is due to luck more than talent that my disarming charm slams into her mid-flight and separates her from her wand.

A moment later I cry out in pain once again as my thigh protests my movements, a copious amount of blood flowing out of the wound and making me feel light-headed. My vision darkens and I fight to stay conscious. I don't have the presence of mind to know why I should but instincts tell me it is better to stay awake.

An unknowable amount of time later, Madam Pomfrey kneels next to me, her wand already in motion. She forces a red potion down my throat and I realise it is blood replenishing potion once the potion works. My chest rising and lowering at an alarming rate, I try to think back to what I've learnt in the introductory health class to keep my mind from the pain in my leg as the dedicated nurse examines my injured limb.

Harry arrives a second later, his teeth clenched, eyes burning with anger, and drops next to me, taking my hand immediately. He gives me a small smile that resembles a grimace more. "That was impressive, Love."

I snort, a spit of blood flying out of my mouth and land on the boy's cheek, right next to his mouth. "Sorry."

He gives me half a smile and licks the blood off his cheek. "There, gone."

Madam Pomfrey must have cast a medical knitting charm because my leg muscles tense, earning a grimace from me though it could easily be attributed to disgust that must be otherwise clear on my expression, aimed at Harry's action. I hiss through my teeth before chuckling at the small, fake grin on Harry's face. "You are disgusting."

He opens his mouth but is interrupted by a throat clearing and I look up to see a redhead that looks familiar but I can't place.

Must be another Weasley, is the first thought to cross my mind. Dear lord, how many of them are there? Are they planning to conquer the world through the sheer number of bodies they have?

"What is it, Percy?" Harry asks to the redhead.

The red head ignores Harry, his eyes on the nurse working on my leg. "You need to leave the pitch so the workers can fix it."

Harry stands up and steps into the redhead's space, making the other boy take a step back. "They will work once Fleur is good enough to move and not a moment earlier."

"But-"

"I don't care," Harry interrupts. "Her health is more important than the expediency of your work, Percy."

"Right," the boy mumbles and turns around to leave but stops mid-step. "Professor Dumbledore said he's looking into who the man is," he mumbles under his breath, looking at no one, and hurries away.

Harry stays standing for a moment and though I can't see his face, it's obvious he's plotting something from the micro-movements of his jaw. He does that whenever he thinks about something, his jaw moving left and right randomly.

He shakes, literally, out of his thoughts and returns down to my side.

"What is it? Who was he talking about?"

Harry chuckles at me but before he can answer, Madam Pomfrey interrupts by holding another vial of potion to my lips. "This should help with the tremors. You have no nerve damage but your leg will take a day to return to health and the cut in your elbow has slight infection. I'll need to whip up an antiseptic potion for that but that can wait until after dinner."

I nod with a silly smile. I don't know what was the last potion she gave me but I have an odd urge to giggle. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

The nurse nods and leaves as Harry gives me a knowing smile. "From one to moon, how high are you right now?"

That breaks my resolve to not giggle. "I feel fine," I lie, drawing out the last syllable for a few seconds before collapsing back to giggles.

"I'm sure," Harry deadpans before lifting me up to a bridal carry, making me woozy.

"Is this your way of proposing?"

That joke earns me a single raised eyebrow, and a contained smile. "I feel I'm just a tad too young to marry, don't you think? So are you, for that matter."

"Huff."

"You aren't supposed to say 'huff.' Huffing would suffice."

I fight the smile that forces itself onto my lips and slap him on the chest, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Fine, Mr Know-It-All."

"Nah, Hermione and I are just friends."

What? "What?"

Harry snorts and shakes his head as we reach the stairs leading up to the stands. "Never mind."

You know, I just now realised I don't know why Harry's carrying me. I consider objecting to being treated like an invalid but decide against it. It feels nice and frankly, I kind of enjoy the concern he has for me and the show of affection. He carries me to the top, struggling all the way, he even stumbles but not a sound of regret comes out of his mouth.

It feels good to be loved and cared for.

Aimee is upon me as soon as we reach the top, asking questions faster than I can answer though Harry does as soon as Aimee gives him an opening. Only now I realise she hasn't come to my side to check up on me and I can't help wonder why. Not that I'm offended, I'm sure she has a reason.

"I was with Madam Maxime while she chewed out the arbitrator," she explains when I look at her questioningly and with no need to verbalise my question. "He said he made a judgement call to let it continue."

That doesn't sound right. He himself said he would call the duel if one of us goes overboard.

It is Harry who explains as he gently places me on a seat, his expression anything but gentle. "He was about to stop the duel but then you took your wand back into your hand so he let the duel play out to give you a winning chance. If he stopped the duel, you would have lost because the bitch broke no rules, technically."

"Well, that's good then," I say, massaging my leg, the nerve potion's effect on my mind lessening by the minute. "I would hate to lose to that thing due to a technicality."

It is then the arbitrator returns to the pitch, calling for Harry and Aimee for their duel. Both turn with questioning eyes, making me roll mine and shoo them off. They leave, but only after Harry makes Cedric sit near me with a promise to take good care of me.

Well, that's just insulting. "I'm not a baby! I can take care of myself."

Cedric grins at me though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't think they care." My only response is a huff—not the word, the action. "Are you okay?" Cedric asks when I drift off for a moment as I watch Harry take his place opposite of Aimee.

"Yes, just worried about Harry."

Cedric snorts, this time giving me a real smile. "I don't mean to put Aimee down or anything but I have a feeling Harry can win this duel with little effort on his part."

"That's not it," I say with a shake of my head. "I'm worried about what he will do to the bitch. Henningsen, not the Aimee," I explain before stopping. How much I can tell Cedric? Harry says he's a good guy, and I have to agree. I shrug and trust my instinct on this one. "Yesterday, after your duel, he was furious. He was already planning on teaching her a lesson. Now… I don't know what he'll do but I know some of what he's capable of when he feels angry or vulnerable, and trust me, that's a scary scene."

With Madame Maxime's blessing, I have been joining Harry on his every training session, missing my own classes to prepare for the duels. With Professor Flitwick, Sirius and Remus, he's his usual chipper and enthusiastic self, training hard but also having fun. With Professor Snape, he transforms into someone else and it isn't because Snape is a cold teacher.

No, I've witnessed their interactions before and while their relationship isn't the healthiest there is, they have a sense of rapport. But in his duels against Snape, Harry has been frighteningly intense, stopping at nothing to stop the other man from scoring a hit against him. He would attack with no thought to how much damage he could cause if a fifth of his spells made it past the hook-nosed teacher's defences, just to keep the other man from attacking.

That wouldn't be much of a problem if Harry didn't have one of the most creative minds I have ever seen. The things he comes up with on the spot can be incredible and he's normally a joy to watch with when he's in the mood but against Snape…

I don't know what's going on between them and why Harry has been so tense but something is wrong.

It is difficult, not being able to help him but after the second time he rebuffed my attempt to open the subject, I decided it is wiser to let it be for now.

"You may begin," I hear the arbitrator say and focus my attention at the duel.

Harry must feel impatient because he's all over Aimee in an instant, casting three separate handshake chains one after the other. Aimee tries her best and makes it to the third chain but a body bind slips past her defence and a follow up disarming charm ends the duel within a minute.

The next duel, and the last one before the two-hours break, is between Cedric and Victor. The Bulgarian wins the duel while Aimee, Harry and I watch in tense silence. Harry has a way of making everyone around him feel what he feels.

I hope he doesn't do something he'll regret.

 **-FD-**

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the last round of duels," Bagman announces in an excited voice as Harry and the bitch-that-shall-not-be-named take their places across from each other. I honestly understand Harry's dislike of the former Quidditch star now. The man has no social grace and no understanding of propriety.

The stadium is silent, unlike the other duels. The spectators—consisting mostly of Englishmen and women—knows this is a payback duel. The number of students who told, almost ordered even, Harry to show 'the bitch' what happens when you tickle a sleeping dragon, was ridiculous.

I doubt even Harry expected the sudden level of support he has for the duel ahead, even from people who were formerly antagonistic towards him. I may have underestimated Cedric's popularity or the students' home pride.

Either way, Bagman's enthusiastic announcements finds no recipient as the arbitrator takes his place between the two duellers. Contrary to the previous duel, he orders no restraint to either side, perhaps knowing how pointless it would be. He doesn't even tell either side to bow instead moving away from them after both nods their readiness.

"You may begin."

Harry once again opens the duel but this time, he opens it with a flash: a dragon made of fire, similar the one he conjured when we first arrived at the castle, flying at the Serbian girl. The fiery-dragon flies at an incredible speed, barely giving the girl the time to cast an icy shield that melts but is enough to keep her sweating but unharmed.

No, what harms her is the flying kick Harry follows the dragon with after running behind the fiery conjuration and using it to mask his movements. Blood sprouts from the girl's nose, broken I would guess, and the watching crowd shows their appreciation of the brutal attack even though it is decidedly non-magical.

As soon as he lands back, Harry is back up again, punching the girl on her broken nose, a crunching sound reaching to the stand I'm on. He doesn't stop and doesn't look to have any intention of stopping as he continues to pummel the girl's face, each hit earning blood.

The girl falls to the ground after the fifth punch, shaking her wand hand from the shoulder, her hand moving stiff. She's shuffling back as she shakes her hand and if I'm being honest with myself, the fear in her face gives me a sick satisfaction. My confusion about why she's shaking her wand hand lasts until she raises her right arm and slams it to the ground as if it's a club.

Remember when I said Harry can be terrifyingly creative when he's in a particular mindset? He must have cast a sticking charm, a localised binding hex and a silencing charm because the girl is trying to drop her wand so the arbitrator would call the duel.

Harry follows the girl with slow steps, his calm anger making the other girl shake as she struggles to put distance between her and the danger. When he reaches her, he grabs her by the hair and drags her up before punching her in the stomach.

The duel, if you could call the beating down Harry gives to the girl a duel, continues in the same vein for the next ten minutes, the Italian arbitrator following both participants—hah! The bitch hasn't even cast a single spell on Harry yet—closely, his hand hovering above the wand holster tied to his belt, itching to end this travesty. But it only ends after Harry feels satisfied and when he snatches the other girl's wand out of her stiff hand, smiles at the girl and snaps it in half.

Yes, I don't feel ashamed to admit it: Harry scares me sometimes.


End file.
